


What the Heart Wants

by autumnstar



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 7 AU, Woven Beauty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 16:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16896432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnstar/pseuds/autumnstar
Summary: The whole Gold family gets swept up in Drizella's curse, and Detective Weaver becomes a single father in need of a nanny.Winner of Best Woven Beauty in the 2019 TEAs





	1. Familiar Faces

Belle had been through many curses, but this one was arguably the worst. At least in Storybrooke, during Regina’s curse, she hadn’t remembered who she really was. In this new town, Belle could remember everything and had nothing. She knew her husband and son were out there somewhere, she just didn't know where. She had no way of knowing for certain if the curse had split them up or kept them together.

The last thing she remembered before being abruptly swept into Hyperion Heights, was hugging Gideon tightly to her chest, as Rumple wrapped his arms around the both of them. A small, naive part of Belle had hoped that if they held one another tight enough, the curse wouldn’t be able to part them.

She’d been very wrong.

The curse dropped her in a lonely, tiny apartment, and gave her a job as a bartender for Regina. It took a lot of effort for Belle to remember to use her new name; _Roni_. She had a few, patchy cursed memories of this new Regina, but there were no memories of knowing a cursed version of Rumplestiltskin, only a vague, foggy memory of a late husband. And this new version of herself definitely didn’t have a son.

It was almost a week before her worries were finally put to rest. At least partially. She’d found Rumplestiltskin when she hadn’t been looking for him, and getting him to talk to her had been easier than Belle had dared to hope.

He’d strolled into Roni’s bar as Belle wiped it down, and their eyes had met for what felt like minutes. She tried so hard not to stare at him as he ordered his drink, but he didn’t make the same effort back. She could feel his eyes on her as she continued her cleaning, and serving the other customers that came to the bar to order.

When they finally had a second alone, Rumple hadn’t apologised for staring at her. Instead, he told her that she reminded him of someone, and Belle felt lightheaded with hope as she turned to face him. That was the ice breaker she needed to get him to keep coming back to the bar. Which he did, every evening for the rest of the week.

"Fifth night in a row," Belle counted, setting his drink in front of him. "Should I be worried or flattered?"

"Take your pick," he said with a tip of his glass and a smirk. His accent had been changed by the curse, and she was still surprised every time she heard him speak. "I just like the atmosphere."

Roni snorted behind her, but at least she'd stopped trying to pull Belle's attention away from him now.

"It's very welcoming," Rumple - _Weaver_ \- said dryly. She couldn’t bring herself to use his cursed name just yet. He was still Rumple in Belle’s mind, whether he recognised her or not.

“You _are_ welcome here,” Belle insisted with a smile. She could practically feel Roni roll her eyes before she left the two of them to it. After the first night that Rumple had appeared, and Belle got over her initial, speechless shock, Roni had warned her to stay away from him. He was a dangerous man who couldn’t be trusted, apparently. It was nothing Belle hadn’t heard about her relationship with Rumplestiltskin before.

“Yeah?” Weaver asked. He looked a mixture of smug and amused, and Belle wondered how much of that was Rumple and how much of it was the curse. “Tell that to Roni.”

“Maybe I will,” she said, smiling back at him. “But for now I’d prefer to talk to you.”

He looked intrigued, and gave her a little nod of his head for her to continue. “What about?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She wanted to ask him about Gideon, but she couldn’t lead with that. Belle was only a stranger to Weaver. He might flirt with her, but telling her about his son was something else entirely. “How’s work?” Belle asked instead, leaning forward over the bar. “Caught any villains?”

“Villains?” Weaver huffed a laugh. “Don’t tell me you think I’m a hero.”

“I think you could be,” she said, and something changed about his smile. For just a second, the smugness was replaced by an uncertainty that fit Rumple more than it did Weaver. Then it was gone and he leaned forward, bringing their faces closer.

“You’d think differently if you got to know me,” he told her.

“You’re avoiding my question,” she noted, trying and failing to sound serious. Weaver smirked at her and downed his drink.

“Maybe I am.”

“It makes me think you’ve got something to hide, detective.”

“Maybe I have.”

Their eyes met, and Belle tried to figure out the look he was giving her. He seemed intrigued, which made her strongly suspect that he was testing her. Weaver wanted to see how she’d react, and Belle was not going to back down. She’d married the Dark One, she could take him on as a possibly corrupt cop.

“Then I won’t tell you about my day,” Belle said with a heavy sigh and looked away from him. She could see him watching her out of the corner of her eye as she turned to serve another customer. It only gave her a minute’s pause from his challenging look, but it was enough for Belle to feel like she’d regained some control.

“Your exciting day working at Roni’s?” Weaver prompted after the customer thanked her for his drink and left.

“I have a life outside of this bar,” she lied, turning back to him. He opened his mouth to say something when his phone buzzed in his pocket, grabbing his attention away from her. Belle’s smile fell in disappointment when she saw the look on his face as he read the message. It was all business, and she knew what he was about to say.

“Speaking of life and work.” He held the phone up and gave it a little shake. “Duty calls.”

“Is it your son?” Belle asked quickly. She knew it wasn’t about Gideon, but she hadn’t had a chance to check on how he was doing, and he was already leaving her. “Is he with your neighbour again?”

“No, uh…” Weaver trailed off and frowned, and Belle hoped he wasn’t deciding against telling her about his son. As far as he was concerned, it wouldn’t really be any of her business. “Just a friend this time. I'm working late and she owes me a favour,” Weaver explained, and she tried not to sigh with relief.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it's... it's not easy to find babysitters.”

“You should get a nanny,” she suggested. The idea of someone else spending so much time with Gideon fuelled the aching hole in her chest, but their boy needed to be looked after properly until the curse could be broken. “Children need consistency,” Belle tried to explain. “A familiar face.”

“A familiar face,” Weaver repeated, as if the thought had never occurred to him, and nodded. “You know a lot about kids?”

The look he was giving her was too much like Rumple’s, with his curious frown, and the mask of dry sarcasm that hid something softer underneath. She had to look away.

“I had a son,” Belle said quietly, repeating his old words back to him.

“What happened?”

“I lost him.”

Silence followed, and Belle found herself wiping down the same spot on the bar to distract herself. She heard Weaver stand from his stool, slipping a note under his glass.

“I’m sorry about your boy,” he told her. There was a calculated look in his eyes when Belle looked back up at him, and she recognised that look. He was plotting something. “I’ll see you later. Belle.”

She watched him go, sighing as the bar doors swung shut behind him. Belle wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up. It was one thing to see him every night, to talk to him, but she hadn’t seen Gideon in nearly two weeks and she was no closer to waking Rumple up. She needed to get closer to him, but something was holding him back. How was she supposed to give him True Love’s Kiss if she only ever saw him in that crowded bar?

“When you’re done making eyes at the door, I’ve got some customers here that want serving,” Roni reminded, and Belle reluctantly went back to work.

 

* * *

 

When her shift was over, about an hour after Rumple had left, Belle couldn’t grab her bag and coat quick enough. She had a lot of work to do if she wanted to wake her husband up, and working at that bar had only slowed her down. She’d let herself become distracted by his daily visits, but it wasn’t enough now. Seeing Rumple and not seeing that warmth of love in his eyes, not being able to talk openly with him, or touch him, hurt too much.

Then she had Gideon to think about. She knew, no matter what cursed state Rumple was in, that his love for his son would still be there. That wasn’t a worry for her, but the number of people looking after him whilst Rumple wasn’t there was. It should have been her helping him with their son. She was his mother.

Stepping out onto the street, Belle only got a few yards away from Roni’s when her bag was ripped from her shoulder. The strap snapped as a man rushed past her, taking her handbag with him.

“Hey!” Belle shouted, but it was no good. Her yelling at him wasn’t going to stop him any more than running after him in her heels would, but she still tried. She ran awkwardly down the street, until the assailant disappeared into an alley. Then she wasn’t so sure that hurrying after him, alone, was a good idea.

Stuttering to a halt, Belle hugged her arms around herself and looked around. She didn’t know what to do. Her phone was in her bag, not that she had anyone she could call. Other than the police. She could go back to Roni’s and call Weaver to help her, she thought.

It was only as she was turning to leave that Belle heard a faint _thump_. And then another, and another. Her curiosity had often led her into all sorts of trouble, but no matter how much her brain told her to stay away, Belle slowly walked towards the mouth of the alley.

Everything was in shadow, but she could see the rough outline of someone moving.

“Rum-- _Detective_?”

He paused, and Belle realised that the noise she’d heard was him _kicking_ her mugger. His back was to her as he stepped away and picked her bag up from the ground. She felt sick. She wasn’t sure if that was because of Weaver’s brutal assault of the man who’d taken her bag, or if it was because the man had stolen from her.

“Belle,” he said evenly.

Stepping into the streetlight, he held her bag out for her, and Belle reached for it with shaking hands.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and he inclined his head. He breathed heavily as he looked up and down the street, as if expecting to see someone else, but then it hit her. He wasn’t searching for another possible attack. He was avoiding meeting her eyes.

“You served him in the bar,” he told her, his breathless voice rough. “When you wouldn’t look at me.”

Belle felt her cheeks flush and nodded, but unlike him, she had no problem staring at him.

“So you… waited for me?”

“I was nearby.”

“Oh.” A smile and a small glimmer of hope pushed its way through her queasiness. That’s why he was avoiding her gaze. It wasn’t that dissimilar to their early days together in the Dark Castle, she realised. He was pretending not to care.

“I have to walk home,” Belle told him, and he glanced across at her. It was a start.

“I’ll walk you,” he said. That was all the prompting Belle needed. Holding her broken bag tightly, she stepped up to his side, heals clicking loudly in the quiet street, and grinned brightly at him.

“Thank you.”

Weaver started to walk away, and Belle felt her smile fade. She looked back into the alley, at the body still slumped on the ground, and held Weaver’s hand to stop him.

“What about him?”

“What about him?” Weaver asked, looking into the alley as if it was nothing that he just beat a man out of consciousness. “He assaulted a police officer.”

“He assaulted _me_!” Belle paused when she realised what she'd just shouted, and hugged her bag closer to herself. “You're just going to leave him there?”

“Well, it was hardly a lawful arrest.” He cast a last, carefree glance down the alley and then looked to her. “I'm sure he's learnt his lesson.”

Belle hesitated and he sighed.

“I can’t arrest him and walk you home,” he pointed out. “And I know which one I’d prefer to do.”

“But--”

“Come on,” Weaver interrupted, not unkindly. “I’m not letting you leave here alone.”

“I leave alone every night,” she reminded.

“Then you need a new job!”

A stunned silence stretched out between them, punctuated by the groan of her attacker as he started to wake up.

"Shit," Weaver muttered, and she couldn't tell if that was for snapping at her or because the man was gaining consciousness. Belle couldn't stop herself from staring at him now, either. She took a step closer, hoping that there really was something of Rumple still in there, and put her hand on Weaver's arm.

"You're right," she said gently. "I never wanted this job, anyway."

He turned to her, his back to the alley, and Belle felt a wash of relief when she saw his smirk return.

“What did you want to do?”

“Travel,” Belle admitted. “But now I’m here, so,” she shrugged, “that’ll have to wait. Do you have any suggestions, detective?”

“I’m sure I can think of something.”


	2. Gold and Lacey

It was a week between Weaver offering her the job, and Belle collecting all of her things together to move in. He’d given her a couple of days to think about it, but she hadn’t really needed them. The chance to see Gideon every day, and to live with Rumple, had her almost bouncing on her toes when he’d suggested her becoming a live-in nanny. They’d talked about pay and her having to quit working at Roni’s bar, but Belle didn’t care about any of that. She was Gideon’s mother. She didn’t need a wage to take care of her son.

He’d mentioned other things, too; things she hadn’t really understood. Gideon needed structure, he’d agreed, and a familiar face. That last part still played over in Belle’s mind, even as she wheeled her suitcase out of the elevator in Weaver’s apartment building. She knew that Rumple would tell her if he was awake, but for him to consider her a familiar face to Gideon, maybe he wouldn’t tell her if he thought she was cursed, too.

Knocking on the door, Belle toyed nervously with the handle of her suitcase. There hadn’t been much she wanted or needed to bring. Only the essentials, and what clothes the curse had given her. There was nothing sentimental in her own little flat. Unlike Rumple’s shop in Storybrooke, where the curse had brought over so many impossible and important objects. Belle had nothing like that, but maybe Rumple did.

The door unlocked, a chain clicked, and there he was. Rumple - Weaver - looked her over and eyed her single suitcase. She couldn’t tell what Weaver was thinking. It wasn’t as easy as reading Rumple’s mood, especially when he smirked at her and held the door open wider.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling back as she stepped inside. The front door led straight into the living area, which was a mess with toys and the odd empty bottle. Apparently Weaver liked a drink.

“Travelling light?” he commented, shutting the door behind her.

“Oh, um--” She glanced down at her single suitcase, and he took it from her. “Yeah, I… I have everything I need in here.”

Weaver was looking at her again, but his eyes stayed firmly on her face. He was probably surprised that she had so little, but there was no judgement in his eyes, only a faint curiosity, as if he was surprised at what he saw. It reminded her of how easy it had always been for her to surprise Rumple.

“I’ll show you to your room,” he said suddenly, studiously avoiding her eyes as he brushed past her.

“My room?” Of course she’d known she’d need her own room as a live-in nanny, she could hardly sleep with Weaver, but the words were too reminiscent of her first day in Rumplestiltskin’s castle. It seemed even curses couldn’t cancel out certain parts of a person.

She followed after him, down a little corridor to their right, into a small bedroom at the end. It was simply furnished, with a three quarter bed, and a colour scheme of powder blue and cool brown. The colours made her smile, and Weaver seemed pleased with her reaction; even if he didn’t understand the significance of it.

“You like it?”

“I do,” she beamed as he wheeled the suitcase to the end of the bed; _her_ bed. “It’s perfect.” It wasn’t quite the same as them sharing a room, and a bed, but at least they’d be in the same apartment now.

“Right, well.” He stepped around her. “I’ll leave you to unpack.”

“No,” Belle said quickly, putting her hand on his arm to stop him. “No, that’s-- It can wait. I’d… like a tour, if that’s alright?” What she really wanted was to see Gideon, but she wasn’t sure if she could ask for that. She wanted to wait for Weaver to offer to introduce them, and he seemed in no hurry to do that.

“There isn’t much to look at. Your bathroom’s through there,” he pointed to a second door down the little corridor. “My room’s next to Gideon’s.” All too happy to accept her request, Weaver waved his hand for her to follow him and Belle got the impression he was putting off taking her to see their son. _His_ son. There were some things she didn’t think she’d be able to get used to saying. She still hadn’t been able to bring herself to call him Weaver out loud.

He led her into the living room and started to pick things up, as if he was only now realising just how messy the place was.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, gathering up the bottles and almost dropping one. “Wait there, I’ll just..." He hesitated, and used his foot to brush aside a toy truck as he carried the bottles into the kitchen. There were toys everywhere, and it made it impossible for Belle not to grin. Even if she'd been split from their boy, at least Rumple hadn't been separated from him. It seemed even a curse couldn't stop him from being a doting father. The thing that really worried Belle was Weaver’s drinking habits. He’d had a number of drinks every day at Roni’s bar, she’d had no idea he’d been drinking at home, too.

"I haven't had many chances to clean. Not since his mum passed," Weaver continued, coming back into the room. It made her heart ache to hear him say that. The curse had given them both dead spouses, but it hadn't settled enough in Belle's mind for her to have any memories of what her fake husband looked like. She wondered if his fake wife looked anything like herself. Maybe that was why she’d be familiar to Gideon.

“What was her name?” she dared to ask.

A pregnant pause stretched out between them. Weaver busied himself with clearing up some of Gideon’s toys, and was quiet for so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer her. When he did, his voice was quiet, and he half turned to her as he gripped Gideon’s stuffed bear tight in both hands. It was from Storybrooke, Belle realised.

“Lacey,” he said at last, and her breath caught. He really was cursed, she realised with a sinking heart, and a faded memory of herself was the reason this man’s home was littered with bottles and toys.

Gingerly, still holding her breath, Belle reached out to take Gideon’s bear from him. He looked like he was close to strangling it.

"I'm so sorry," she said gently, and hoped that would be enough. The corners of his lips twitched into a smile, just as he turned his head away from her before she could appreciate it.

"I'm afraid I’ve forgotten your last name," he said, moving the conversation along. It was an excuse, she could see the pleading need for a distraction in his eyes. "Belle?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, _Gold. I'm Belle Gold_ , but while the curse hadn't managed to change her memories, it had changed her name. Now they were Isabelle Paige and Detective Weaver. She wondered if he had a first name this time.

"Paige," she told him, and something flickered across his face. He looked her over, as if only now seeing her properly, and then levelled her with a smile that made her heart pound.

"Isabelle Paige," he repeated, testing how it sounded. "What a pretty name."

"Thank you." She felt a little silly for blushing, it wasn't her real name, but she was happy for the compliment from him. It meant that there was a chance of her getting close to this version of her husband.

"So, Mrs Paige--"

"Miss," Belle blurted out.

"What?"

"I'm not," she said quickly, but he only raised his eyebrow at her and waited. "Married, that is. I'm not married."

"Right," he said slowly, with an amused smirk that reminded Belle so much of Rumple.

"I lost my husband," she said, thinking that it was probably better to stick as close to her cursed persona as she could. “His name was Gold.”

“And your ring?”

Belle looked down at her left hand, where she still wore the silver band and cut diamonds that he’d given her. She toyed with it, twirling it around her finger, and tried to smile. Rumple had given her only one, strict instruction, and she intended to follow it.

“I can’t take it off.”

"I see," he said carefully, struggling for the right words, but it wasn’t awkward. Belle was struggling for words, as well. "He must have died young. This Gold."

She wouldn’t correct him, and she didn’t want to point out that Lacey must have been young, too. Instead, Belle met his eyes and watched his reaction closely.

"He was a little older than me," she said pointedly. They stared at one another, and Belle felt the creep of worry that maybe she’d been too obvious, but then he smirked and looked away. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d attacked her mugger a week ago, or Roni’s words of warning about how dangerous he was, but Belle needed to get close to him if she wanted any hope of waking Rumple. Flirting with her own husband couldn’t hurt anyone.

“Lacey was younger,” he said with a nod, as if them matching the ages of their respective spouses made sense, and just like that he was back to business. "Would you like to meet Gideon?"

"I would love to see Gideon," Belle said, and her voice came out as almost a whisper.

Her enthusiasm brought back another fleeting smile, and Weaver gestured for her to follow him. She did so eagerly, walking just behind him as he led her to the other side of the little apartment. Belle could hardly contain herself as he opened the door to a bright nursery. The walls were painted white, but the furniture was all painted yellow, and the carpet was a darker, almost golden yellow.

Belle smiled. Gold, indeed.

"Here he is," Weaver said, and something about him quickly changed. He felt closed off before, like there was an invisible wall built between them and he was reluctant to pull it down and let her in. But as soon as he bent to pick up Gideon from his playpen, his face had lit up and his voice had softened.

"Gideon," he said, and their boy stared up at him with wide, matching eyes. "This is Miss Paige." The boy gurgled and Belle tried so hard to hold back the warm sting of tears. She hoped that Weaver wouldn't notice. His attention so far, since entering the nursery, had been entirely on Gideon, whose face lit up as soon as he turned and saw her. He pointed at her with a big smile.

"Hello, Gideon," Belle said gently, and the little boy reached out for her. His little fingers flexed in the air between them, trying to grab onto her, and Weaver looked at her with clear surprise.

"He's not usually so..." Bewildered, he stepped closer to her and let her take Gideon from him. A lump rose in her throat, and Belle didn't trust herself to say anything as Gideon babbled happily and gripped onto the front of her dress. "You must be a natural with kids."

"I can tell we're going to be friends," Belle agreed weakly and cleared her throat. "Right, Gideon?" The boy made a noise that she took as agreement, and Weaver watched the both of them with a lopsided smile that was too much like Rumple and too much for her to handle.

She turned away from him quickly and looked around the room.

"This is a lovely nursery," Belle said conversationally, hoping he wouldn't notice the tremor in her voice.

"Yeah," Weaver said. "His mum chose yellow. Wanted a nice, neutral colour, she said." That was partly true, Belle thought with a sad smile, but it wasn't strictly the only reason she'd chosen it. She'd also liked the play on Rumple's name, he span straw into gold, and she'd been wearing a golden gown when they first met. It wasn't just a neutral colour; it was _their_ colour.

"Listen," he said, interrupting her reminiscing. "I've gotta get ready for work. You think you could..." Weaver trailed off, and Belle blinked back her threatening tears before turning to him.

"You really trust me?" she asked hopefully.

"I think Gideon does," he teased dryly. "Can you work today?"

"Yes!" Belle beamed, and while Weaver looked a little taken aback by her eagerness, Gideon only giggled and slobbered on her shoulder. This was more than she'd hoped for. She'd hoped to stay a few days, get settled in, before he even considered trusting her alone with their son.

"Yes. I can start right away," she said a little calmer.

"Well, alright," Weaver said and backed towards the door. "Changing things are in that trunk," he pointed towards a yellow trunk near to the door, and then pointed over his shoulder. "Bottles are in the kitchen. Think of it as a trial period."

"Got it." She nodded eagerly. "I won’t let you down."

"Good." Weaver nodded back. "Good thing."

"Yeah."

"So, I'll just--" He pointed over his shoulder again.

"Of course," Belle said, nodding and smiling and holding onto their son. "We'll be fine."

"Oh," Weaver smiled a secretive smile, one that almost made her wonder if Rumple was already awake, "I don't doubt that."


	3. Something More

They fell into a routine in the week that followed her moving into Weaver's apartment. Every morning he would get Gideon up and she would feed him while Weaver got himself ready for work. Then she had the whole day to spend with their son - _his_ son - before Weaver came back.

It made getting close to him, to wake him with True Love’s Kiss, almost impossible. The time that he came back would always vary, and Belle knew he never returned as soon as his shift was over. He'd come home in time to say goodnight to Gideon with the faint smell of whisky on his breath, and after avoiding looking her in the eye, he'd either leave again or go to his room.

This was the first night he wasn't back in time to put Gideon to bed.

Belle sat up and waited, writing in a little notebook. If she couldn’t wake him with a kiss, then she needed a backup plan. Taking inspiration from Henry’s book in Storybrooke, Belle had bought a little green notebook, with the intention of writing out their story. It was the perfect distraction that night, to take her mind off the worry of where Rumple might be. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't Rumple. He, Weaver, had no obligations to Belle. She was just his son’s nanny. If he wanted to work late, he could. If he wanted to drink himself into a stupor at Roni's, he could. If he wanted to spend time with someone else, Belle wasn't in a position to stop him.

She was starting to doze, her book slipping from her hands, when a key rattled in the apartment door and Weaver unceremoniously stumbled in. Belle’s eyes flew open and the book fell to the floor with a soft thud.

He wasn't drunk, she didn't think, but he'd been in a hurry to get in through the door and he looked just as surprise to see her as she was to see him in that state. His hair was tousled, he was breathing heavily - she suspected out of anger rather than exhaustion - and he was hiding his hands behind his back.

"You're up," he said gruffly, and Belle nodded. She didn't know what to say. "Is Gideon... He's in bed?"

She swallowed and stood up. That was something she could talk about, to take her mind off her worry for her husband who didn't know he was her husband.

"Yes," Belle answered, then cleared her throat. "He fell asleep about an hour ago. I tried to wait, but he got restless." Picking up her book she showed it to him, but his eyes remained fixed on her face. "I read to him."

"Right." He nodded, pushing the door shut with his foot. "Good. He likes books."

There was an awkward silence. The two of them stared at one another; Belle clutching her book to her chest like a shield against the concern making her heart pound worryingly fast, and Weaver with his hands still hidden behind his back.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Belle offered with a smile that hopefully didn’t look as forced as it felt.

He shook his head and dumped his keys in a small bowl beside the door. “No. Thanks.” Their eyes met again, but he looked away quickly.

“What happened to--?”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Wait.” Frowning, and feeling a strange calm overtaking her concern, Belle marched up to Weaver and held out her hand. “What happened?”

Clearly stunned, he stared at her for a moment before a smirk slowly appeared on his lips.

“Nothing. Just, ah...” He wrinkled his nose, in a way that was too much like Rumple. “A little disagreement with a suspect. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Show me,” she insisted. Belle didn’t think he would actually listen to her, he had no reason to do as his son’s nanny said, but with an amused glint in his eyes he put his hand on top of hers. She sucked in a breath when their palms touched, and her heart started pounding all over again, but the sight that met her took away any excitement she might have once felt.

His knuckles were bloody, and although they were cut she knew without asking that it wasn’t all his blood.

“I won’t ask what happened,” she said steadily, no matter how much she wanted to tell him how stupid he was. He had a son waiting for him at home, and he was out getting into fights? “But this needs cleaning,” Belle continued, reaching for his other hand to inspect that one, too. It was in the same state.

Taking a deep breath, she released him and lifted her chin. The amusement on his face had twisted into a curious smile and slightly narrowed eyes. For now, at least, he’d do as she said.

“Sit down and take off your rings.”

Leaving him with that instruction, Belle went into the kitchen to fill a bowl with warm water, grabbed a clean cloth, and rummaged through the cupboards until she found the first aid kit. When she returned to him, he was slumped down in one of the armchairs, rubbing his fingers against his temples.

Remembering the night he’d attacked her attempted mugger, she tried to suppress a shiver as she knelt on the floor in front of him. She also remembered the warnings Roni had given her, about how dangerous Weaver was, but he’d only ever shown her care. That care didn’t fit how violent this cursed version of Rumple could be, and she wondered if there was a spark of recognition in his mind.

“I take it the suspect was resisting arrest?” she asked dryly, setting the bowl down and opening the first aid kit. He leaned forward, and she could feel him watching her.

“Most usually do,” he said, a perfect non-answer.

“Mhm.” Taking one of his hands, Belle dampened the cloth in the warm water and looked at him. His eyes flicked up to her face, making the corners of her lips twitch into a reluctant smile. He’d either been looking at their joined hands, or down the front of her shirt. “I suppose you had no choice but to beat them, then.”

“None at all.” The amusement was back on his face, a dark smirk that wouldn’t have been out of place in the Dark Castle, but it was gone the second she dabbed the cloth onto his knuckles. He hissed and frowned at the cloth, as if it was her fault his knuckles were a mess.

“It stings,” Weaver complained

“It won’t sting as much if you hold still,” Belle countered, blotting at his skin again. She did try to be gentle, but a selfish part of her was glad to finally have him looking at her and talking to her. Even if it was only because she was helping him. It was a start; a little open door for her to step through to get closer to Weaver, and closer to waking him up.

He looked at their hands, searching for something, and frowned.

“You still wear your ring,” he noted as if it bothered him.

“I do.” A beat. “You don’t wear yours.”

“I didn’t like the reminder.”

“I don’t want to forget,” she said, and it was far more literal than he’d ever know. Rumple had made sure she wouldn’t forget as long as she kept her ring on. He was supposed to still be wearing his, but something had gone wrong and he’d lost it somehow. “When was the last time you wore yours?”

“No idea,” he admitted. “Must be a couple of years.”

“But Gideon’s only one,” she frowned innocently, latching on to the little crack in the curse. His own frown deepened as he tried to remember. She could see in his eyes as the curse tried to convince him that he was simply being forgetful.

“It feels like years,” Weaver finally corrected, and Belle sighed. That was a dead end. She couldn’t ask him anything too personal about Lacey, not yet, and she’d have to be more cunning if she wanted to reach him through the curse.

“Why did you really do this?” she couldn’t help but ask once silence fell over them. Quiet moments with Rumple had usually been comfortable, intimate, but that wasn’t the case with Weaver. With him, she could feel him watching her and trying to figure her out, or staring at her like she was someone else.

“Police business,” he answered at last.

“That’s a vague excuse,” she said flatly. “I asked why you _really_ did it.”

Not looking at him, Belle continued to dab the blood and dirt from his knuckles, then moved across to clean the other hand.

“He owed someone,” Weaver said at last. “They wanted their money back.”

“That’s not police business.” She looked at him, if only to see his reaction to her bluntness, but he didn’t look surprised. He was still curious.

“I’m a detective. My business is police business.”

“That’s not how things work, detective.”

“You sound like my partner.”

Her heart stopped. A sickening knot twisted in her stomach, and Weaver only looked at her with mild amusement. Surely he didn’t have… _No_ , she told herself. He meant his work partner.

“Maybe they can talk some sense into you, then,” she huffed, her voice surprisingly steady.

Weaver laughed; a deep chuckle that shouldn’t have sent an excited thrill through her. “How _do_ things work?”

“Roni said--” She bit her lip and stopped. This wasn’t Rumple, she had to remind herself. This man didn’t love her and she couldn’t be open with him. It was the first proper conversation they’d had since she’d quit her job at Roni’s and moved in, and something had changed between them. She just couldn’t put her finger on what.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“No, go on,” he encouraged, leaning further over her so she had to tip her head back to look at him. He turned his hand over in hers and gripped it, holding her in place. “What’s Roni been saying?”

“She… She said you’re a corrupt cop.”

Leaning back slowly, calculated, Weaver’s eyes narrowed again in that way he got when he was trying to decide what to do. He drummed the fingers of his cleaned hand on the arm of the chair and looked away from her, towards Gideon’s room. She wondered if he realised his thumb had started to stroke the back of her hand.

“And yet you still agreed to work for me,” he reminded.

“I did.”

“Why?”

Belle squared her jaw and waited for him to look back at her. When he did, waiting for her to answer, she took a deep breath and put the bloodied cloth down.

“Because I see more than that,” she answered. “I see something good in you.”

That made him smile, but it was a sad smile. Before she could finish cleaning his cuts, Weaver let go of her hand. She felt cold, and he stood up so quickly that she had to shuffle backwards out of the way. This hadn’t gone how she’d hoped at all.

“I have to be up early,” he said, looking at his knuckles and inspecting her work. She wanted to protest and insist that they weren’t done, but he moved away and turned his back to her. “Thanks for… You know.” Weaver span on his heel and held up his hands, in almost a perfect mirror of his old self, and she had to hold back a sob when he sent her a smile.

“I’ll be gone before you or Gideon wake up,” he continued, and nodded towards her bedroom door. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Are you… are you working early?”

Weaver stopped midstep, on his way to his own room, and turned to her with a light frown.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Oh.”

His eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, and Belle tried not to fidget as he searched her face. When he’d found what he was looking for, and she’d managed not to look away from him, Weaver gave her a small nod.

“I’m meeting someone.”

She couldn’t breathe for a moment, but she couldn’t let him see that. Meeting with someone could mean anything. He could have been meeting with his work partner. He could have been meeting with the person who wanted their money back. It could be anyone.

Nodding back, Belle sent him a weak little smile and sighed.

“Goodnight, detective,” she all but whispered, grasping on to just a few more seconds with Rumple.

“Goodnight, Belle.”

Belle couldn’t help but wonder, as she watched him go, if their cursed selves would be closer. If she took her ring off she could let the curse consume her and truly become Isabelle Paige. It would certainly hurt a lot less than having her husband right in front of her, looking at her as if she was just a pleasant distraction from his busy life. A life she wasn’t a part of.

He left her to go to their separate bedrooms, and Belle looked down at her wedding ring. _Not yet_ , she told herself, grabbing her notebook. That was her last resort. For now, she still had the chance of True Love’s Kiss and her own storybook. She flipped through it, to the last thing she’d written, and smiled sadly down at the pages.

 

* * *

 

_The Dark Castle, many years ago…_

The first weeks in the castle’s dungeon were a lonely time, but eventually Rumplestiltskin came to let her out. He led her to a room that was decorated so brightly and prettily, that she could almost forget she wasn’t really a guest there.

Over the days that followed, the room slowly began to change. The once green bedding became blue, after telling him she liked the colour, and the standing mirror that had once been covered by an old sheet, was replaced by a small bookcase after he caught her trying to read between chores.

She took him his tea every day, and where he usually did most of the talking, today she was the first to speak.

“Thank you for the bookcase.”

“What bookcase?” Rumplestiltskin asked as she poured him his tea.

“The one in my room.” She slid the cup and saucer across the table to him, and he took it with a shrill giggle.

“I never set foot in your room, dearie.”

“Hm.” Giving him a knowing smile, Rumplestiltskin’s amused grin faded. It didn’t matter that he tried to hide the uncertainty behind the teacup. She could see it. He was suspicious of her. That much they could both be certain of.

“Have you washed my clothes?” he asked. She saw it for the distraction it was.

“Yes, and hung them out to dry.”

“Fetched me fresh straw?”

“You already have plenty by your wheel.”

He rubbed his fingers together and sat back. “And the dusting?”

“All done.”

“Well, haven’t you been busy?” he asked with a languid flip of his hand.

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t pleased. He frowned, and just as she reached out to take his empty cup, his hand shot out to grab hers. He didn’t hurt her. He simply held her tight enough to stop her from pulling her hand away. “What do you want?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t want anything,” she answered. He’d done little to really be afraid of, and the more time she spent around him, the more she realised there was nothing to fear. He’d never raised a hand to her, or thrown an unpleasant spell her way. There was nothing to fear anymore. “Is there anything else?”

“You’re not afraid.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Her bravery troubled him. She didn’t think he wanted her to be a cowering wreck, or to scream every time he suddenly appeared behind her. Rumplestiltskin simply wasn’t used to not being feared.

“Because,” she began, gathering together all the bravery she had. “I think there’s more to you than… this. This beast you pretended to be in front of my father and his men. You don’t act that way all the time. What is there to fear?”

His eyes were fixed to her face, and as he stared at her the hand gripping hers relaxed. His fingers rested almost softly against her skin and his thumb brushed over hers, until he realised what he was doing. He ripped his hand away, rubbed his fingers together, and scowled at the table.

“Will that be all?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes. Yes,” he said, shooing her away. “You can leave.”


	4. Company

Belle hadn’t slept.

She’d been plagued with dreams of a fire that were so vivid she could still feel the heat of the flames licking her cheeks. She could clearly remember the sound of a building creaking and groaning as one of the outside walls gave way, and a cry of despair that left her throat hoarse. But the biggest thing was the ache in her chest. It felt like someone was holding her heart and squeezing, and at any moment her body would crumple.

It wasn’t a dream, she realised when she woke up. Not a dream in the typical sense of the word. It wasn’t real, either, but the curse was trying to convince her that it was. They were Isabelle Paige’s memories of her late husband’s death, and they were slowly creeping into her subconscious.

There’d been no fire. Gold wasn’t dead. Her husband was lost to her, but she’d get him back.

He wasn’t dead.

Belle worried at her wedding ring, telling herself over and over that it wasn’t real. The ring wasn’t loose and it hadn’t slipped off in the night. It was still there, secure on her finger and keeping those cursed memories at bay. For now.

She got up and hoped that, like dreams, she’d forget those memories during the day. She already had Rumple to worry about. His memories had been completely wiped by the curse, and if last night proved anything, it was that he didn’t love her. Her being around him hadn’t been enough to jog his real memories, and what familiarity he did find in her Belle was sure came from her likeness to Lacey. He loved his dead wife, and True Love’s Kiss wasn’t going to work until she could get him to love her instead.

She idly wondered, as she groggily lifted herself out of bed, if Weaver would fall for her if she behaved more like Lacey. She remembered her time as Lacey, and some of Isabelle’s dresses were certainly more Lacey than Belle. It would have been an easy enough thing to pull off, but would it work to break Rumple’s curse?

True to his word, Weaver had left before she’d woken up. She showered and dressed in the silence of his apartment, with nothing to distract her from her concerns. Gideon was asleep when she went into his room, and she softly talked to him about her plans for the day as she changed and fed him.

“And then maybe we can visit papa at work,” she said, and kissed the top of his head when he happily burbled back.

“Papa!” he loudly proclaimed, throwing his hands out.

“My thoughts exactly.”

It was impossible to tell if the curse was affecting Gideon, too. She could only assume that it had, but their son was the one person she could tell about her fears. She knew he couldn’t tell his father about the crazy things his nanny had been saying, either way. Talking to Gideon helped her to build a sense of normalcy, and to feel a little closer to Rumple. Especially when their little boy watched her with those wide, brown eyes.

Not long after, Belle settled Gideon into his stroller and left the apartment. She still wasn’t sure of her way around Hyperion Heights. She knew how to find her old apartment, Roni’s, and the way back to Weaver’s, but finding her way to the police station was a different story. After nearly half an hour of wandering she’d at least found the library, but she had to stop and ask for directions.

Gideon was happy enough. He babbled away, blissfully unaware of the fact they were lost. Belle talked to him and he gurgled back, and it was just the right distraction she needed as she followed the dubious directions Tiana - _Sabine_ \- had given her.

“Turn right here, then take the second left-- Oh, no. Maybe it was… Take the first left.”

She’d find it eventually, Belle was sure, but in a fortunate accident Tiana’s uncertainty led her to her husband in a way neither of them could have planned. Or rather, her husband’s voice, and unable to stop herself Belle followed the sound of it.

He was standing in a back street, across the road from where Belle hid with Gideon, and talking to someone with their back to her. She could still hear the sound of his voice, the amused note to it that she knew meant he was trying not to laugh, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Whatever it was, and whoever he was talking to, they’d done something to impress him.

“Go,” Gideon said, leaning forward and pointing at Rumple.

“Not yet, Gid,” Belle said softly. “Papa’s busy.”

“No!” he whined, his little legs kicking the stroller. “Go.”

“Spying on Weaver?” The sudden voice of another adult made her jump, and Belle turned to see a tall man with familiar brown eyes standing beside her.

 _Henry_.

Belle blinked back her tears and tried to give him her brightest smile. His own smile was smaller, and there was no recognition in his eyes; one of which was discoloured an odd yellow-green, and it took her a moment to realise he must have been sporting quite the black eye a week ago. Her smile weakened.

“No, I was just-- I didn’t mean to.” She cleared her throat, fighting the urge to ask if he was okay. “He’s Gideon’s father.”

“Papa,” Gideon agreed, still trying to reach out to Rumple from across the street.

Henry’s eyes widened, and Belle could feel the misunderstanding about to happen.

“Oh, so you’re--” He pointed between her and towards the street where Weaver still talked to the mystery man. She didn’t want to correct him. She knew she should, but wouldn’t telling him that she wasn’t Gideon’s mother be the real lie? “I had no idea he had a family. He doesn’t exactly strike me as a family kinda guy.”

“He’s a wonderful father,” she assured him easily. It was true of both Weaver and Rumple. She didn’t need to feel guilty about lying, it wasn’t a lie, and she welcomed the chance to talk to someone else from her old life. Especially someone who was family.

“Really?” Henry asked, uncertain. He glanced up the street towards Weaver. His nose wrinkled in a way that reminded her of his grandfather, and she had to look away. “I guess you don’t know what people are really like behind closed doors.”

“We all have our mysteries to be uncovered,” Belle agreed with a smile, and he gave her an odd look, as if he recognised the words. She’d hoped he would. “You’re a writer, aren’t you?”

The look was gone, but she could still see the curiosity behind his smile, and it gave Belle a spark of hope that maybe she could get through to Rumple after all.

“Yeah, actually. How’d you know?”

“Oh, Roni told me. She said you wrote fairy tales?”

“Sort of.” He nodded and smiled sheepishly, like he wasn’t used to talking about his book but was learning to. “They’re more like retellings.”

“Retellings, huh? Maybe I’ll have to buy myself a copy. I do love a good book.” Another flash of recognition in Henry’s eyes had Belle wondering why it was so easy with him and not with Rumple. Maybe it was her husband’s stubbornness that was giving her problems, and not the curse. But she couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t let Henry know something was wrong with her.

“I’m Isabelle. Belle,” she said, just for something to say, and offered her hand.

“Henry Mills,” he returned, shaking her hand with a pleasant smile. “And I better go.”

“What?” Her smile fell as he released her hand. “Why?”

“Weaver’s coming over,” he said quietly, with a little smile that told her she should know why Weaver’s presence meant he had to leave. A lump of disappointment settled in the back of her throat as Henry lightly touched her arm and past her. “It was nice meeting you, Belle.”

“And you, Henry.” She watched him go sadly, as Gideon happily giggled and wriggled in his seat.

“You know Henry Mills?” Just like his grandson, Rumple made Belle jump with his sudden appearance. Gideon laughed again, distracting Weaver long enough for her to look to the street she’d first spotted him in. The mystery man he’d been talking to had gone, and Belle sighed.

“We just met,” she finally answered, turning to see Weaver knelt down in front of their boy.

“Seemed you were having quite the chat,” he said, as he smiled at Gideon and let the boy pull at his sleeves.

“We were talking about his book.”

“Ah.” Weaver didn’t seem at all surprised, or that interested, but part of him was still Rumple and Belle had learnt long ago when Rumple was pretending not to care. Weaver knelt down in front of Gideon, smiling at him and answering the boy’s excited chatter. But he kept casting her odd looks. They were quick glances, quick enough for her to miss if she took her eyes away from him, which she didn’t.

“Is this your lunch break?” Belle asked when their eyes met for the fourth time.

“I can take a break whenever I want,” he said, straightening up and leaving an opening for Belle.

“Then maybe we could have something to eat together?” she suggested hopefully, and Weaver lifted an eyebrow at her. He looked amused, as if he was just waiting for her to realise her suggestion had sounded like an offer of a date. Belle already knew it did, she’d wanted it to, and when she didn’t stammer or blush, Weaver’s smirk softened.

“Really?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah.” Nodding, and giving the most nonchalant shrug she could muster with her heart excitedly pounding in her ears, Belle looked down to Gideon and smiled. “I think we’d enjoy your company.”

“Right.” Weaver didn’t sound convinced, but one last glance down at his son had him agreeing. He nodded and looked down the street. “Well, unless you want street food, I’ll let you do the honours.”

“Oh, I don’t really know the area,” Belle said. Something about her voice, probably the slight tremor of worry that he’d get frustrated and change his mind, made him look back at her. His eyes narrowed, just a little, but then his amused smirk was back.

“Alright,” he said. “What do you like?”

They ended up at a diner called the Second Star. Even that didn’t seem to be enough to get a reaction from Weaver. The name meant nothing to him beyond it being a place that did good hamburgers, and that’s what she’d told him she liked.

With a table full of two hamburgers and three fries, an iced tea, black coffee, and orange juice, Belle and Weaver sat opposite each other. He’d pulled Gideon from the highchair their waitress had provided at some point, and Belle had let him. She sat quietly and watched while he tried to feed Gideon the soft fries, and they fell into an easy pattern. Gideon would eat one, then offer the next to his father. Weaver had eaten them the first few times, but when Gideon continued to share his food, he only pretended to take a bite, then handed the mushy fries back to Gideon who happily ate them.

Belle’s heart was so full at the sight she thought she might burst. She knew she had a big grin plastered across her face and she didn’t care. Weaver wasn’t looking at her. He wouldn’t wonder why she was so happy to see him interacting with his son. For now, Belle could pretend he was Rumple, but she didn’t think she’d ever get used to his new accent.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, looking up at her suddenly. She didn’t know he’d been paying any attention to her. He’d seemed so absorbed by Gideon. “Don’t you like it?”

Belle’s cheeks warmed up. She’d been caught.

“I do,” she assured him quickly, picking up her untouched burger. He noticed she hadn’t eaten anything, and of course he did. From what she could tell, Weaver was a brilliant detective. Of course he’d see her obvious lie. She’d never been a good liar.

“Lacey used to hate this place,” he said without taking his eyes from her. The words were awkward and reluctant, but she couldn’t decide if it was his attempt at opening up, or if he was trying to test her somehow. She couldn’t see how it would be a test, but something about the way he looked at her was too calculating.

“Then why did you bring me here?” Belle asked, hoping he’d look away from her. It was like a weight lifted when he turned his attention back to Gideon.

“You’re not like her,” Weaver said simple.

She took a big bite out of her burger and looked away to the rest of the diner. She needed the distraction. It was a narrower, even more rectangular space than Granny’s, and not as brightly lit. Most of the lighting came from two windows either side of the door, and a neon sign of a white star behind the bar. The faces of the other patrons weren’t familiar like they had been in Storybrooke, either. Regina and Henry were the only ones she’d seen so far that she really knew, and the latter had been a woefully brief meeting. It reminded her a little of her and Gold’s dismal date when she’d been Lacey and hadn’t recognised a single familiar face in Granny’s, even though she knew them all.

Half of her burger was eaten in silence, as Weaver’s attention remained on Gideon, and Belle couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the sight. They both reached for their drinks at the same time, both of them watching their son, but Belle’s fingers found a warm cup instead of an icy glass. Before she could correct her mistake, Weaver’s hand wrapped around hers and they froze.

He looked at her, surprised, and then a smile slowly pulled at one corner of his lips.

“Trying to steal a sip of my coffee?” Weaver asked. He hadn’t taken his hand away.

“It was an accident,” she assured him steadily. She’d only just got rid of the hot blush in her cheeks and she could already feel it starting to creep back. It was ridiculous. He was Rumple. He was her husband. Why did she blush every time he noticed her or teased her?

“We could make a deal,” Belle suggested playfully, but there was still no hint of recognition in his eyes. She tried not to let it change her smile. “A sip of my iced tea for a sip of your coffee sounds fair.”

“Don’t let the accent fool you,” he teased back, slipping his fingers between hers. “I’ve never been much of a tea drinker. Iced or otherwise. Lacey was the same.”

The sad reminder that he really wasn’t Rumple slowly started to worm its way back into her mind, ruining the little bubble she’d built as she watched Weaver and Gideon. No deals. No tea. The only thing that was still like Rumple was his love for his son.

“Guess I’ll have to order my own coffee next time,” she said.

A bemused little smile flickered across his face and he tilted his head. Belle wasn’t sure if it was that that made her smile despite everything, or the feel of his thumb rubbing against the back of her own.

“Next time?”

“I miss our talks,” she said boldly. “I saw you more when I worked at Roni’s than I do living in your apartment.”

Weaver laughed and took his hand away to help Gideon with his drink. Belle would have been sad at the lost contact, but it was eased by the sight of him whispering in their son’s ear and making him giggle.

“You’re right,” Weaver allowed, as Gideon dribbled his drink over his sleeve. “Who wouldn’t want to talk over cheap burgers instead of whisky?”

“You make it sound so romantic,” she mused.

“Do you want it to be?”

They eyed one another, and Belle had no idea how to respond to his challenge. She _did_ want it to be, she wanted so much more, but she wasn’t sure just how much Weaver was willing to give. They joked and teased, and during her time as a bartender they’d playfully flirted, but he hadn’t done much beyond that to show that he truly wanted her.

Belle was almost glad when Gideon tipped his drink over and distracted Weaver.

The rest of the meal passed in pleasant conversation. He could be abrupt, and he clearly loved to tease her, but she’d rather have that than have Waver not want to talk to her at all. He had a similar presence in the diner as he did in Granny’s. People would cast him furtive glances - probably surprised to see him with a woman and his son - and she wondered if he was just as lonely as Rumple was when he didn’t have her and he’d lost Neal.

But Weaver hadn’t always been lonely, had he? He’d had Lacey, or so he thought, and it was Lacey that he wanted now. If she was going to get Weaver to like her, she needed to play on his fond memories of her past cursed-self.

Belle took Gideon straight home after saying goodbye to his father. She changed him and put him down for a nap, before settling down with her notebook. She opened it to her list of plans and crossed out the first option.

A kiss with Weaver would be just that. It couldn’t be True Love’s Kiss, and it couldn’t wake him if he didn’t love her. It was Lacey he wanted and that was exactly what she’d give him.

 

* * *

 

 

_The Dark Castle, many years ago…_

He was following her.

Well, not really. Following wasn’t quite the right word. He was seeking her out, that was more like it.

Whenever she had some time to herself, and hadn’t seen him for an hour or two, Rumplestiltskin would appear in the great hall or the library; wherever it was she’d chosen to read that evening. The only time he didn’t do this was when she read in her bedchamber. So she rarely read in there anymore.

He’d always appear under the guise of needing something. Maybe he’d want her to fetch him more tea, or straw, or he’d check that she’d cleaned everything and not left her mop lying around for him to trip over again.

That last part wasn’t quite true. He never mentioned himself tripping over her mop.

On that particular night, however, Rumplestiltskin appeared in a cloud of smoke along with his spinning wheel. He settled near one of the windows, the one closest to the little bed he’d left in the library for her, and began to spin. The creek of the wheel lulled her into an almost dream-like state, and she quickly found herself unable to focus on her book.

Closing it, and marking her place with her finger between the pages, she watched as he turned his endless supply of straw into gold. His back was to her, slightly hunched as he relaxed into his work.

She smiled and put her book to the side.

“You don’t usually spin in here,” she said gently. He paused, for just a brief second, and the creaking of the wheel was interrupted by his hesitation.

“No.” He carried on working.

“Did you want some company?”

“Why would I want that, dearie?”

She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her, and bit back a smile. “Everyone wants company, from time-to-time.”

“What I want,” he bit back, still spinning, “is peace and quiet. I thought I would get that in a library.”

Pressing her lips together, she picked back up her book and settled back into her bed. She fluffed up the pillow and pulled the blanket over her lap.

“Rumplestiltskin?”

“ _What_?”

“Would you like me to read to you?”

The wheel stopped and didn’t start again. He turned around on his little stool and stared at her, his wide eyes scanning over her and the bed. He looked stunned to see her lying there, and she caught him swallowing nervously as he rubbed his fingers together. She smiled, in what she hoped would be encouragement, and pat the space on the bed by her legs.

With a brief, backward glance to his wheel, Rumplestiltskin stood and stiffly sat down beside her.

“If you insist,” he croaked out, and she smiled.

“I do.” Opening the book where she’d left off, she cleared her throat theatrically and the corner of his lips twitched up into a small smile. “ _Alma took his hand as they crested the rolling green hill and looked out over the valley._ ”


	5. Past Lives

**Belle**

Finding clothes in Lacey’s style had been even easier than she’d thought.

Getting the look just right was important. Weaver’s own style was so far removed from Rumple’s, and she hadn’t yet got used to it. Rumple wore his clothes like armour. Silk, leather, and finely tailored suits, that was her husband. Not all this denim he’d taken to wearing as Weaver.

Belle needed to be more like Rumple. Her clothes needed to be her armour and her weapon.

Her new wardrobe wasn't exactly the same as her old one, but with the right things paired together she was confident she could pull it off. She had a black dress, one that was modest with its high neckline, but short enough to be to Lacey's taste. Put with a pair of dark tights, electric blue heels and a leather jacket she found at the back of her wardrobe, and all that was left for Belle to do was style her hair.

She gave a little twirl in the mirror and brushed her hair over to one side. It was about as close to looking like Lacey as she could get with Isabelle's clothes.

Happy enough with her look for now, and making a mental note to buy a few more clothes later in the day, Belle left her room to see to Gideon.

Weaver was already up and about, getting ready for work. She studiously ignored him, after wishing him a good morning, and busied herself with changing and feeding Gideon. Their boy didn’t seem to see anything different about the way she was dressed. He happily tugged on her hair and babbled away as she tried to feed him.

His father’s reaction was very different.

At some point between her taking Gideon from his room and setting him into his highchair, Weaver had stopped moving. Belle didn’t notice at first, but she heard him step up behind her as she poured herself some cereal. She’d be pressed against him if she stepped back, and that was very tempting.

In all the time she’d been staying with Weaver, this was the longest she’d held his attention in a morning before he rushed off to work.

“What are you wearing?” he asked gruffly. There was something about his voice that, unlike with Rumple, she couldn’t place. She wasn’t sure if he was annoyed, stunned, pleased, or something between all three.

“What?” Belle asked, glancing down at herself. They were her clothes, after all. If she was going to pull this off, she had to act like Lacey. Lacey didn’t care what other people thought of how she dressed.

“That dress. It’s too short.”

She frowned and tugged at the hem of her dress. She’d thought he’d like the length. Rumple had never complained about her short skirts and dresses before. Belle sighed. _He isn’t Rumple_ , she reminded herself, turning to face him.

“Do you have a problem with my dress, detective?” _Think like Lacey. Be Lacey._

He smirked and Belle thought her heart was about to hammer its way out of her chest. It was working, it had to be. She couldn’t remember Weaver looking at her like that before.

“No. You can wear whatever you want.”

“Good.”

“I’m just surprised.”

“About what?”

He shrugged and looked down into his coffee mug. “Doesn’t really seem like your style, that’s all. Apart from the heels.”

“I do like my heels,” Belle said happily, turning back to her cereal.

“You’re not--” He cleared his throat. “Not dressing like that for… any particular reason?”

“No. Just myself.”

“Right.” Weaver nodded. “Good.”

He sounded relieved, and Belle kept her eye on him as she ate her breakfast and Weaver paced around the kitchen, drinking his coffee. His relief didn’t last very long. He started to look more apprehensive. He frowned down at his mug, and Belle tried desperately to think of something to say. Was it because of her clothes that he was anxious? It could have been, but then why would her looking like Lacey worry him?

“Is this about the--?”

“I have to get to work,” he interrupted, looking at her sharply.

The glint in his eyes, and the way they raked over her body - more exposed than usual - took her breath away. It wasn’t worry, she realised. Not really. He wasn’t worried about her looking like Lacey. He was attracted to her, and that worried him.

Before she had a chance to say goodbye, or Gideon had his customary goodbye kiss, Weaver was out the door. The apartment door slammed shut, and Belle’s hopes sank down into her stomach. At least he’d looked at her.

With a heavy sigh, Belle told herself that she could try again when he came home. For now, she had the whole day to spend with her son, and she could kick off her heels before they pinched anymore at her toes.

 

* * *

 

**Weaver**

"Nice morning, detective."

Weaver left the apartment building in such a hurry that he almost missed the girl sitting on the front of his car. She grinned at him, with her usual smile that suggested she knew everyone’s secrets. Including his own.

"Tilly,” he greeted, pulling out his key. “What have you got for me?"

"Nothing much," she shrugged, swinging her legs. "I heard you got a new girlfriend living with you."

"You heard wrong."

"That's not how she tells it." Tilly continued to smile, even as she looked away from him and surveyed the mostly empty street. Weaver frowned at her and stepped closer.

"What exactly did you hear?"

"Just that she's a beauty."

He couldn’t and wouldn’t argue with that, and as a silence started to stretch between them, Tilly’s knowing smile grew. He’d just confirmed what she was thinking.

"Quit listening to rumours, and start finding me some useful information," he said gruffly. "And get off my car."

With a fond roll of her eyes and a bored little sigh, Tilly slipped off the car and stood in front of him. She straightened out her skirt and narrowed her eyes at him.

"There's something else I know, detective."

"And what's that?"

"You might want to be nicer to Henry Mills."

It was his turn to sigh. "Make yourself useful and tell me what you can find on Isabelle Paige."

"Your girlfriend?" Tilly beamed again, and Weaver huffed out a laugh. The girl was determined, he’d give her that.

"She's not my girlfriend. She looks after Gideon."

"That's what I did. You never invited me to move in," she pointed out, standing behind him as he unlocked his car and got in.

"Just… Find out what you can," Weaver insisted. “I’ll meet you later with your payment.”

"Orange marmalade?" Tilly asked brightly, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.

“Isabelle Paige,” he reminded. “You worry about that, I’ll worry about keeping you fed.”

A part of him knew that digging up potential dirt on Isabelle was wrong, but she was up to something, he was certain of it. He was a detective, he reasoned with himself, and she was looking after his son. He had every right to know if the woman in his house - not his girlfriend, as Tilly had so unhelpfully called her - was lying to him. His new nanny had that look in her eyes of someone searching for something. She wanted something from him, and Weaver intended to figure out what before she got her way. He didn’t dare to hope that what she wanted was the same thing as him.

He’d hoped work would be enough to distract him from Belle, but it wasn’t. After leaving Tilly, the rest of his day was dull, almost uneventful if not for that one eyewitness who was obviously lying about the break in in his neighbour's flat. He'd let Rogers deal with that one. He had the patience that Weaver didn't to deal with the people stupid enough to lie to them.

As he left the station, he found himself hoping to bump into Belle like he had the day before. He was certain she'd been following him, and he couldn't stop asking himself why.

Why had she been following him? Why had she agreed to work for him and leave with him after she saw him beat her attempted mugger out of consciousness? Even Roni had warned her about him, and Belle hadn't paid attention to any of it.

Then there was that morning. It wasn't just the questions about her motives that Weaver couldn't get out of his head. It was the length of her dress, and those long legs leading down to ridiculously bright blue heels. When they first met, he'd noted her startling resemblance to Lacey, but now they looked identical.

Had there been any pictures of Lacey left he would have suspected her of deliberately dressing as his late wife. All he knew for certain, was that Belle's sudden change came the day after he caught her talking to Henry Mills.

He crossed the street to his car, refusing to let his mind go down that line of enquiry. They clearly hadn’t met before. There was no spark of recognition on Mills’ face as the two of them spoke, and Belle had said they were talking about books. That was about the only thing he believed from his little bookworm. Mills was an author and she always had a book in her hand when he came home.

“Detective?”

Weaver sighed and turned from his car, to the man that now wasn’t just interrupting his thoughts, but was interrupting his journey home.

“Well, if it isn’t Henry Mills,” he greeted flatly. “Should I be worried about you following me?”

“Following you? I’m not--”

“I saw you with Isabelle yesterday,” Weaver ground out, his annoyance getting the better of him. But Mills wasn’t deterred, much to his disappointed. He held up his hands in surrender and shook his head.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged and dropped his hands. “After seeing _you_ with Belle, I figured there was more to you than--” Henry gestured towards him and he fought back a smile at the younger man’s unease. “I just think we got off to a bad start.”

 _Belle_ , Weaver noted. She’d asked him before to call her Belle, but something about her telling another man to call her that grated Weaver’s nerves.

“Really?” he asked dubiously. “You got all that from seeing me with _Belle_?”

“You can’t fool me anymore, detective. I saw you with your wife,” Henry said, smiling. “There’s more to you than what you want people to see.”

“I can tell you’re a writer, son,” Weaver dismissed as he turned from Henry and got into his car. “Your head’s full of fanciful ideas.”

He looked up at Henry, ready to send him on his way, and froze. Something about the young man’s amused smile and brown eyes knocked the breath out of him.

“Detective?” _Grandpa._ “Detective, are you--?”

“I have to go.”

"Right," Henry said awkwardly. "'Course. Send my regards to Mrs. Weaver."

It wasn’t until he’d pulled away and was halfway down the road, that Weaver really registered what Henry had said. _His wife._ Why would he think Belle was his wife? Possibly because he’d seen her with Gideon, and Belle may have told him that Gideon was his son. He could have assumed that Belle was Gideon’s mother. That must have been it. He didn’t want to entertain the impossibly ridiculous idea that she had told Henry they were married.

He almost wished he'd corrected Henry, or questioned him, but what would he have said? "She isn't Mrs. Weaver, she's Mrs. Gold. Only she isn't. She goes by Paige now. Despite still wearing her wedding ring," didn't sound quite right. It was too much to try and explain when he didn't understand it himself.

The flat was blissfully quiet when he arrived home. He’d hoped to see Gideon, but he was late getting back - again, an annoyed little voice in the back of his head reminded - and he’d missed seeing his son to bed.

With a heavy sigh, Weaver threw down his keys and went to Gideon’s nursery. Belle must have been in bed, he assumed, which meant that any and all question he’d had for her would have to wait until morning. Until he opened Gideon’s door and saw her sitting there, peacefully and awkwardly sleeping in the little reading chair beside Gideon’s crib.

She had a book in her hand, which was about to slip off her lap, and a pen on the floor by her feet. Weaver found himself smiling despite everything, as he approached her and picked the two up. Belle was always writing in that thing. If she wasn’t reading, she was scribbling something down in that little notebook. Lacey had never been much of a reader. All she had in common with Belle was her appearance, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming up her legs and searching her face. She looked so content, he was almost reluctant to wake her.

He was about to set her book to the side, when he caught a glimpse of the page it had been open on. Weaver fought the urge to snoop, to see what stories and ideas were running through her pretty head, but he still caught part of a line.

_“Do you like my dress, Mr. Gold?”_

Weaver frowned and put the book down. It made a satisfying thud as he dropped it onto Gideon’s dresser, and he would have slammed it harder if it wasn’t for his son sleeping so soundly beside him.

Belle was still pining over her dead husband; that mysterious Mr. Gold who had no first name, whose surname she’d dropped, and whose ring she still wore.

She was a strange thing.

With a stirring sickness in his stomach that felt too much like jealousy, as he thought about the woman who looked like Lacey but who dressed for another man, Weaver left the room.

 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, not too long ago..._

Lacey knew how to hold her drink, but even so, there were days when she drank just a little too much.

Gold would indulge her, with a smirk that was halfway between amused and concerned. It was that look, and the glint in his dark eyes, that encouraged Lacey to push things further. She’d drink more than she should, or tease him and ruffle his perfectly tailored suit, sometimes both.

That night she felt like doing both.

She staggered out of the Rabbit Hole, leaving the patrons in stunned silence after her boyfriend - she still couldn’t quite get that title to suit Gold, he was anything but a boy - had threatened Clark into giving her the money she was owed for their pool game. She felt the weight of the new notes pushed down the front of her bra, and laughed as she leaned into his arm.

“Something funny, sweetheart?” Gold asked. She still couldn’t get used to him calling her that, but she was in a good enough mood to let it slide.

“Mhm,” she hummed, resting her cheek against his shoulder as he walked her to his car. “You.”

“Me?”

“You’re so serious.”

Gold stopped so abruptly that she almost fell forward. Lacey turned to face him and slipped her arms under his overcoat. She pulled him close and grinned at the brief flash of surprise that widened his eyes. It was always there whenever she embraced him, and was replaced a second later by the dark, heated smirk she loved so much.

“One of us has to be,” he drawled.

“Yeah. I’m the fun one,” Lacey agreed, pressing her full body against his. “And I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. You should let me...”

“What?”

“Drive.”

Snickering at the confused look on his face, Lacey pulled away and held up the keys to his precious Cadillac. She laughed again when he frowned and she staggered backwards out of his reach.

“I don’t think so,” he objected, making a grab for the keys and missing. “You’re much too drunk for that.”

“Am I?” Walking backwards, in her too high heels for someone who’d drank as much as she had, Lacey bumped into his car and turned around to unlock it.

“Give me the keys.”

“No.” Why wouldn’t the key fit in the lock?

“Lacey.”

“You’re too serious to drive a car this nice.”

“Lacey, give it--” Gold reached around her, but Lacey was quicker, she pushed the keys down her bra with her hard-earned cash. A move that she regretted a moment later when their struggling pushed her flat against the side of his car, and the jagged edge of the keys dug into her breast.

Still, she laughed when she realised the position they were in. Gold had pinned her against his car, and all sorts of images rushed through her mind; no doubt aided and uninhibited by the alcohol.

“Give it to me,” he growled into her ear.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” she teased, pushing her behind into him.

“Lacey.”

“Mmm?” She wiggled her hips for good measure and smiled triumphantly when he groaned.

“Bad girl,” he growled, and nipped at her earlobe. “Now give me the keys.”

“I can give you something else.”

“Can you, indeed?”

“Yep.” Popping her lips around the _P_ , Lacey carried on rolling her hips back into his groin. He panted heavily into her neck, and Lacey grinned when she felt him getting hard against her. “Do you like my dress, Mr. Gold?”

“Hmm?”

“I wore it for you.”

“It leaves little to the imagination,” he teased, pressing a kiss to her jaw. Lacey tilted her head to the side, encouraging him to kiss his way down the side of her neck. This wasn’t exactly what she’d planned for their evening together, at least not until they were both safely inside his car, but she’d take it. She rubbed herself back against him, and hummed happily when he bucked his hips against her.

“That’s the point,” she purred. “Now let me drive.”

“You can’t drive in this state.”

“You can’t drive in _,_ ” she rolled her hips back into him harder, “ _this_ state.”

He laughed and, even though he was the one pinning her in place, she knew she had him exactly where she wanted him.

“We could discuss this in the back seat?” Lacey suggested over her shoulder. He took a step back and she turned around to face him. His hands rested on her hips, but she still felt cold without his body pressed against hers.

“You really wore it for me?” Gold asked, and she couldn’t understand the note of wonder in his voice. He had the frustrating ability to make her feel genuinely loved and valued, and she had no idea what she’d ever done to earn that. She only knew that she resembled someone called Belle, and she was determined to make him forget her.

“There’s only two people I dress for,” Lacey said, deliberately wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against his front. “You,” she kissed him, “and me.”


	6. Awake

**Weaver**

"I'm surprised you still wanna show your face here," Roni said, hitting a glass of whiskey down on the bar. "After you stole my best bartender."

Weaver snorted and grabbed up the glass. "Your bartender was walking home alone every night."

"Oh, so it's her safety you want?" Roni mocked.

"'Course it is."

"Mhm." She leaned back, a knowing smile on her face that frustrated him even more. "You know, it's not lost on me how much she looks like your--"

"Maybe I should find a new bar," he interrupted.

"A bar that serves good whisky and the best advice in town? Good luck." That little smirk on her face was still there, and he downed the whiskey. It was still early, he intended to be home before Gideon went to bed that evening, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a glass or two first.

"Go easy on her,” Roni continued. “She's not who you think she is."

That was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t expected it to be so difficult seeing Isabelle every day. He’d talked to her every evening at Roni’s, about anything and nothing. Weaver hadn’t anticipated how different it would be to go from talking across the bar over several drinks, to seeing her every morning with his son. She’d started to look more and more like Lacey as the weeks passed, and it was getting harder and harder to be around her.

Just the night before, after he’d complained about uncooperative eyewitnesses and missing suspects - just to distract himself from the see-through white shirt she was wearing over a black bra - she’d said something that had sounded so much like Lacey that he’d had to leave the room.

“You can’t tell what’s in a person’s heart until you truly know them,” she said cheerily, as if it was a familiar saying that everyone knew, but the only person he’d ever heard say that was Lacey. On their first date.

She was _too much_ like his late wife. At first, he’d thought maybe it was just a physical resemblance, and that it could be good for Gideon. That was the excuse he’d told himself when he’d offered her the nanny job, anyway. Now it was like seeing a ghost.

That’s how he’d found himself at Roni’s. There were only so many nights he could stay late at work with a flask, hoping she’d be in bed when he returned home. He needed a real drink and a real distraction.

“If I order another, will it come with unsolicited _advice_?” Weaver asked, sliding his glass across the bar to Roni. She rolled her eyes and snatched it up.

“It may,” she said, pouring another whiskey. “You need to hear the truth, and I don’t want you wasting Belle’s time.”

“What about you wasting my time?”

“You’re wasting your own time, detective.” She handed him the glass and he lifted it to her in a mock salute. “Why are you avoiding her?”

“I’m not.”

“Really?”

“Remind me again why I thought I could come here for a quiet drink?”

“Because you’re avoiding your son’s nanny.”

“You’re wrong.”

He paid up and left the bar soon after, once he’d decided he really couldn’t avoid Belle, and he saw a familiar face smiling at him through the bar’s windows.

“Hey, Tilly,” Weaver greeted tiredly. He started the short walk to his apartment; not drunk enough to be unaware that it wasn’t safe to drive, but drunk enough that he’d have to walk.

“Did that digging you wanted me to do,” she said, falling into step beside him.

“And?”

“And she’s clean. There’s nothing going on with her. No shady past.” She glanced sidelong at him and he deliberately ignored her. “But I could’ve told you that without looking into it.”

“There has to be something. I can’t--” He stopped, struggling to find the right words. “There’s something about her.”

“There’s nothing. Her husband died in a fire, she lost him, and now she’s here. Not many people seem to know anything about her, but those that saw her in Roni’s said she was really nice.”

That certainly sounded like Belle. She was caring and maternal, more than Lacey had ever been. She’d been through a lot, he could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him, as if she wanted to find some sort of understanding in him. It made sense now. She hadn’t told him how her husband had died but--

“A fire?” Tilly winced at his question, but nodded. “What fire?”

“Not the same one as what… You know. Not the one that took your Lacey.”

“But both our spouses died in a fire.”

Tilly nodded again and chewed at her bottom lip. “Interesting, isn’t it? Both lost your true loves in a fire, both lonely. If she looks like Lacey, I bet you look like her husband.”

Weaver snorted and kept walking. Belle would never be interested in him, but Tilly had a point. He didn’t know why the little detail about the fire bothered him so much. Fires happened all the time, all over the world. People died in fires. It wasn’t inconceivable that, by chance, both of their other halves had died in the same way. But it still felt… convenient. He couldn’t explain it any better than that.

After saying goodbye to Tilly, Weaver walked back home a little quicker, and with a little more purpose. He wasn’t going to keep avoiding Belle anymore. She wasn’t Lacey. She was a professional, and it wasn’t her fault she resembled his late wife.

 

* * *

 

**Belle**

Belle bounced Gideon on her lap, humming nonsense to him as she glanced at the clock. Weaver was going to be home late, again. She’d kept Gideon up for as long as she could so that Rumple could see him before she put him to bed, but the little boy was beginning to fuss and whine.

Weaver was avoiding her. She couldn't be sure at first, but after his fifth night coming home late, she knew he didn't want to see her.

Dressing as Lacey had been a bad idea. While his attraction to her had become more obvious, and his eyes had certainly lingered longer than they ever had before, he also didn't want to be around her. It was only Gideon that brought him home every evening.

Standing up, Belle hugged their boy to her side and carried him to his room. Just being in there was enough to settle him. His little hands gripped at the front of her top as she picked out a book to read to him. It was a flimsy blue top that concealed nothing and showed off everything; like the lacy black bra she was wearing underneath. She felt a bit silly wearing so little, but she'd caught Weaver admiring her that morning before he left for work, and she'd decided to keep it on for when he came home. Whenever that may be.

Gideon didn't care either way, if he could grip on to it and cling to her then he was happy.

“How about Beauty and the Beast?” she asked, pulling a very cartoonish version of their story from the shelf in Gideon’s room. He babbled as he pointed at the cover, making Belle smile.

“Papa.”

“Exactly. One day me and papa will tell you the real story.” She said gently as she carried him over to the reading chair beside Gideon’s cot. “When we wake him up. What do you think?”

Gideon agreed with an enthusiastic noise that sounded a little like a “yeah.” He rested his head on her chest while Belle got comfy and fixed the hem of her Lacey-short skirt. He was already so tired, but she didn’t want to miss a night of reading to him. It was important to her, curse or not, that she shared her love of reading with her son.

Patting down the boy’s hair, Belle leaned forward to press a kiss to his head, and froze. A faint pulse of energy burst across her lips, and she pulled back so quickly she dropped the book. It landed at her feet, forgotten, as Gideon looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Gideon?”

“He’s awake?”

Belle’s heart jumped. She looked up and found Weaver standing in the doorway, blocking the light from the hall and casting a shadow across the length of Gideon’s room.

“R-- Detective. I was… I was just reading him a bedtime story.”

“It’s late.” He stalked towards her and she felt too much like she was being hunted. His eyes roamed up and down her body, from her heels to her barely-there shirt, before settling on her face. “I’ll put him to bed.”

“Oh. I--” He bent down in front of her to pick up the book. Belle licked her lips and nodded helplessly “Of course.”

“Has he been good?”

“He always is.”

Weaver nodded, but didn’t look at her once she’d carefully slipped Gideon into his arms. He calmed their boy down as he whimpered and reached out for her. It broke her heart to have to step away from Gideon and ignore his attempts to get back to her. Weaver had been spending too little time with him. He needed to be with his father, and she wasn’t his mother in this world. She had no right to take him back.

Lowering Gideon into his cot, Weaver fussed with the little nightlight beside the boy’s bed. It cast a haunting blue glow over the three of them, and glinted in the wetness in Gideon’s eyes. She tried to slip out quietly, but their boy’s eyes fixed on her and his bottom lip trembled.

“Mama.”

Both of them froze. Gideon pulled himself up onto his feet and gripped at the railings of his crib.

“No mama,” he said with a wet little sob and rubbed his tired eyes. But Weaver didn’t look away. He didn’t look at his distressed son like Belle wished he would. He looked right at her, pinning her to the spot in the doorway, and she felt sick.

She took a step forward to get to Gideon, but Weaver cut her off. He stepped in front of their boy so she couldn’t see him, and Gideon’s loud wailing brought tears to her eyes.

“Has he called you that before?”

Belle swallowed thickly and nodded. “Yes.”

Weaver’s jaw tightened and he turned his back on her. He gripped the edge of the crib with one hand and lifted Gideon with the other.

“Get out,” he told her levelly.

“Please--”

“ _Now_.”

Dressing as Lacey was a bad idea.

 

* * *

 

_The New Enchanted Forest, 3 months ago…_

They hadn’t been in that new realm for long before word of another dark curse reached them. But Rumplestiltskin, with his magic restored in full once in a land drenched in magic, was able to prepare.

“There.” He slid her wedding ring back onto her finger, after dipping it into a blue, glowing liquid, and kissed the back of her knuckles. “For as long as you wear this,” Rumple lifted her hand and smiled, “You’ll keep your memories.”

He turned to dip his own ring into the mixture. The moonstone glowed bright when he put it back on, and she felt a weight lift from her chest. At least they’d remember one another now. Gideon didn’t have anything that they could make him wear at all times, and he was too young to understand to keep anything on, but at least he would have both of his parents with him.

“And we have our white elephants,” she said out loud, more to reassure herself than to remind Rumple. He stilled, just slightly, and she frowned. “Rumple?”

“Yes.”

She was sure his tone was supposed to be reassuring, but the tight smile he gave her was anything but. The golden skin he’d once had when they first met had slowly returned during their short stay in that realm, but even that and his changed eyes weren’t enough to hide his unease from her. She’d always been able to read him, whether man or imp.

“What did you do?”

“I...” He waved a clawed hand, as if he meant to grab his explanation from out of the air. “I no longer have mine.”

“What?” she worried. “Did you lose it?”

Rumplestiltskin said nothing. He turned his back to her and picked up Gideon, who babbled happily and pulled at his father’s longer hair. He kissed the top of Gideon’s head and held him close. In a matter of hours, she realised as a cold hand gripped her heart, they wouldn’t have each other. Rumple wouldn’t have his own son.

“Alice needs her father,” he said quietly.

“So does Gideon,” she tried to reason.

There was nothing else she could say. Rumple had taken it upon himself to look after Alice, after finding out that she may be the key to getting rid of his own curse. Now he acted more like a second father to her, and they’d welcomed the young woman into their home. But Gideon was just a baby. He needed his father more.

“Have mine,” she continued when Rumple stayed silent, fishing for the little white elephant in her pocket. He was already shaking his head when she pushed it into his hand and wrapped his fingers around it.

“Yes,” she insisted. “Gideon needs his papa, and I won’t let you be separated from another son, Rumple.”

“I won’t take him from you,” Rumple said weakly, trying to return the little ornament to her. She stepped back, out of his reach, and shook her head. “Belle, please.”

“No.” Her voice broke, and Rumple’s lip trembled. “We’ll remember each other,” she promised. “We’ll find each other, and you’ll look after our son until then.”


	7. By Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments on the last chapter! Hopefully this one will make up for the angst.

Weaver had been out all night.

Belle had to keep reminding herself that he was Weaver and not Rumple. It wasn’t Rumple, she knew that, but that didn’t ease the sickness that had churned up in her stomach. She was too aware of the fact that Weaver owed her nothing. If he wanted to spend the night away, possibly with someone else, then he had no reason not to.

 _He isn’t Rumple_.

She hadn’t slept at all, even knowing that, because deep down he _was_ still her husband. Weaver must have met new people every day through his work, and he spent every day with his partner. What about the mystery man she'd spotted him talking to when she'd followed him with Gideon? All of the possible ways that he may have met someone new wouldn't stop playing through her mind, and the idea that he may have spent the night with someone else made her feel sick. She couldn’t eat or sleep, and after sneaking back into Gideon’s nursery and soothing him to sleep, she’d spent the rest of the night by their son’s crib.

She was dozing when she heard a key in the apartment door, and jumped to her feet when she realised she wasn’t dreaming.

He was back. It had to be him, but Belle felt a sinking in her chest as she hurried to Gideon’s nursery door and remembered that he wouldn’t be as happy to see her as she was him. He’d told her to get out of Gideon’s room. He’d snapped at her. How could she face him after that?

Weaver shuffled around in the kitchen. She listened to the clinking of mugs, drawers opening and closing, and the whirr of the coffee machine. He hadn’t slept, either.

She was going to be sick.

Before Belle could second guess herself again, she forced herself to step out of Gideon’s room and approached the kitchen doorway. He didn’t notice her at first. It gave her a moment to look him over, in the same clothes he’d been wearing the night before, his hair ruffled. He rubbed at his eyes and sighed, and Belle wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and coax him into just going to bed.

He turned and saw her, as old memories of pulling him into _their_ bed flashed through Belle’s mind, and a heat flushed her cheeks.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

The way his eyes raked over her slowly, from head to toe and back again, didn’t help with the furious blush on her face. Especially when she realised she was only wearing her thin nightie.

“You’re...” He cleared his throat and looked back at his coffee. “You’re up early.”

“So are you.” She had no right to be angry with him, or to feel jealous, but she did and she hadn’t been able to keep it from her clipped tone.

_He isn’t Rumple._

He looked at her over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “I had work.”

“Hm.” Tugging down the hem of her nightgown, and ignoring the way his dark eyes dropped to her legs, Belle stepped forward. “No, I don’t think you did. I think something kept you away.”

Weaver snorted and moved to step around her.

“You keep working on that one, detective,” he teased and walked off, coffee mug in hand.

Belle frowned and walked after him. Something was wrong with him, and it had to be Gideon calling her mama. It couldn’t just be her resemblance to Lacey that troubled him, otherwise he never would have hired her, and she’d caught him admiring her body more than once. It _had_ to be about Gideon.

“It’s better to talk about your problems than to walk away from them,” she said, and almost walked into him as he came to a halt. He turned to her, frowning, and Belle tried to ignore how very naked she felt in front of him. It was one thing to walk around with her bra showing, and she was used to having bare legs, but this was the most Weaver had ever seen of her and it showed in his face. His eyes kept dashing down to her legs, or the soft curve of the top of her braless breasts.

Why were all versions of Rumple so awkward about their attraction to her?

“And I suppose you want me to pour my heart out to you?” Weaver asked, his eyes firmly fixed on her face now. “Tell my son’s nanny about all my troubles?”

“You should tell _someone_ about your troubles,” Belle shot back.

“Yeah, well, I already have.”

“You… you talked to someone?” The unwanted rush of jealousy came back full force at the thought of Weaver confiding in someone, but only seeing her as the help. “Who?”

“You won’t know her.”

 _So there was someone else_.

Her blood turned to ice and for a moment, as she struggled to breath, Belle thought she might collapse. Her suspicions were confirmed in that one simple word, and Weaver was looking at her with such concern that she almost wished he didn’t care at all. She wanted to shout at him, she wanted him to remind her that he wasn’t Rumple, but none of that happened.

He watched her, Rumple’s brilliant mind working in time with Weaver’s detective skills, and he sighed.

“Belle,” he said gently, but she took a step back and he dropped the hand he was reaching out to her. “What do you want me to say?”

“I...” What _did_ she want? What could Belle reasonably want from Weaver, and not her husband? “I want to understand.”

That hard, calculating stare was back, and she knew before he nodded or spoke that he was going to give her what she wanted.

“Her name’s Tilly,” he tried to explain.

“Who is she?”

“She’s a runaway. The type that thinks she’s independent, but can’t even feed herself. I keep her fed, and she keeps an ear out on the streets for me.”

“You made a deal with her,” Belle said, unable to stop herself from smiling, and he smiled back.

“Of a sort. She’s a good kid, when she isn’t sticking her nose in my private life. But she’s got no one else to annoy.” It was impossible to miss the fond smile that played at his lips as he said that. “She was Gideon’s babysitter before--” Weaver waved his hand uselessly at her, sloshing the coffee around in his mug. “Who else would I talk to about Gideon, if not you?”

“Oh,” Belle whispered.

 _He’s still Rumple._ Only Rumple could take her from feeling sick with jealousy to feeling nothing but love for him. The way he talked about Tilly was so paternal and caring. She’d already seen it with Gideon and Neal, and Alice, but the reminder was nice. The curse couldn’t erase the fatherly streak that ran deep through him.

“Did talking to her help?”

Weaver pressed his lips together thoughtfully, put his mug down on the coffee table, and nodded. “In a way.”

“In what way?”

“Let’s just say she gave me the kick up the arse I needed to see you for who you really are.”

Belle let out a shaky breath. “And who’s that?”

“You’re Isabelle.” It was such a simple answer, but her heart was pounding so fast she could feel it in her ears. “Not Lacey, and I… Gideon can’t understand now, but I should.”

“You wish I was her.”

“I did. But now I think, what I really want...”

“Yes?”

“Is you.”

A number of things warred through her mind. He was Rumple, and he wasn’t. He was Weaver, and he wasn’t. His face was Rumple’s in that moment. His expression was almost pleading; the sort of look he gave her when things had been strained between them and he was silently waiting for her to let him back in. But the reason for that look was entirely Weaver. He was a widower, opening himself up to the possibility of being hurt again, and Belle reached out to thread her fingers through his.

That seemed to be the only cue he needed. Weaver pulled her against him, and all of her breath left her as she met his eyes. They were a warm honey-brown, so familiar and welcoming, and crinkled at the edges as he returned her smile. She couldn’t handle it anymore. Belle surged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss. He returned it eagerly, opening his mouth without hesitation, but she pulled back.

“Are you…?” She searched his face and fought the rising heat in her cheeks. He stared back, as dazed as she was, but there was no spark of recognition. Rumple would have told her he was awake. He would have held her and told her not to worry.

Weaver did none of that.

He brought his hands up to tenderly cup her cheeks, and it was so much like Rumple that she couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his touch. She missed feeling his hands on her and his body against hers.

“Belle?”

He even _sounded_ like Rumple, in the way his deep voice caressed her name with the same gentle care that he held her face. She tried to ignore that and leaned in for another kiss. He tasted different. She could taste whisky when she licked his lips, and smell coffee and cigarettes as she breathed him in. Rumple tasted of tea and smelled of the woods and leather. It was almost too different, but the way his hands brushed down to her shoulders and pulled her closer was the same, and she sighed into the kiss.

Neither of them spoke as she walked backwards and guided him towards the sofa. Whether he was Rumple or Weaver, she wanted him and he wanted her, and that was all Belle cared about as she pushed at his jacket and worked at the buttons of his shirt. He let her, and pulled at her nightgown with the desperation of a man who’d wanted this for so long but never thought he’d get the chance. That was more like Rumple.

She threw his shirt to the side and lifted her arms for him to slip her nightie over her head. Then they kissed again.

Weaver traced her jawline with firm kisses and nipped at her neck as he brought himself lower. Belle had to bite down on her lip to keep herself quiet. Her excitement came out in short, heavy breaths, that matched the thumping rhythm of her heart and the quick movements of Weaver’s flitting hands.

His name was on her lips, but she couldn’t say it, and calling him detective felt too ridiculous when he was kissing her breasts.

“Weaver,” Belle settled on calling him with a breathy sigh, as she ran her fingers through his soft hair and lightly scratched his scalp.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice so husky it was more like a growl. “Say it again, Belle.” He dotted quick kisses around the swell of her breast. “Say my name.”

“Weaver-- _Oh!_ ” He took her nipple into his mouth and cut her off. “That feels good.”

He looked up at her with a smug smirk, and Belle knew he thought he had the upper hand. She would soon change that. There was already a bulge in the front of his jeans, bumping against her, and she rocked herself against him.

“ _Fuck_ , Belle,” he ground out. He swore a lot more as Weaver, and the way his new accent shaped the crass words made her shiver.

She tugged on his vest, making him straighten up. “Let me see you.”

There was hesitation in his eyes that told her Rumple was still in there, just beneath the surface, before he pulled the vest over his head and bared his chest to her. She slid her hands around his waist and pressed them into his back, pulling him against her. He’d filled out in the years since they’d first met, and she always made a point of touching his waist and stomach and letting him know she didn’t care; she _liked_ his fuller waistline.

“Thank you,” Belle whispered, pressing kisses to his collarbone. She’d missed him so much. She’d missed the feel of his skin on hers, and the sight of his tanned hands gripping her pale body. She’d missed _him_ , regardless of what his name was.

“You’re so handsome,” she murmured, and kissed him when he only snorted in response. She kissed him deeply, until she’d kissed away any doubt that she wanted him.

He broke away from her with a wet smack of their lips and hummed, pleased. “And you’re gorgeous,” he returned. “Seeing you in those skirts. I wanted to kiss you that first morning.”

“Just a kiss?”

“God, Belle. I wanted to push you against the counter and-- _fuck._ ”

She bit her lip as she palmed him through his jeans, and grinned at how easily he broke. “Did you, indeed?”

“ _Yes,_ ” he hissed.

With trembling fingers and a widening smile, Belle fumbled with his belt and threw it down. She stole another kiss, pinching his bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled away, and smiled.

“Then take me.”

He chuckled and Belle playfully shushed him as she fell back onto the sofa. Weaver watched her with hungry eyes as he undressed himself, and she shuffled backwards to make room for him. His jeans and boxers quickly joined the rest of their things on the floor, but she barely had a second to enjoy the view before he was on top of her and kissing her again.

The new smell and taste of him was easy to get used to, and she quickly found herself relishing the feeling of _Weaver_ ; of the detective’s hands brushing down her sides, and the detective’s breath on her neck as he dipped down to kiss and bite it.

“Please,” she whispered.

“What do you want?”

“You.” Hooping her arms around his neck, Belle pulled him down on top of her and kissed him; his lips, his jawline, his neck. She pressed kisses to every part of him that she could reach as he settled down between her legs. His erection pressed into her stomach and she pushed her hips up against him.

“Yes,” she panted. “I need you.” _I’ve missed you._

Weaver didn’t need any more encouragement than that. Belle had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from keening as he pushed into her. He did it so slowly, with the same care and delicacy that Rumple had always used on her, that it threatened to break her. Her heart pounded and broke as she clung onto him - her Rumple _and_ Weaver - and he rocked his hips into hers.

“Is this what you needed?”

“Mmm-- _Yes_ ,” she cried, before Weaver put his hand over her mouth.

“We have to... be quiet.” He could barely get the words out as he rolled his hips into hers. Belle was just glad for his hand over her mouth, and with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she sucked two of his fingers into her mouth. His mouth, already parted slightly with his heavy breaths, fell open as he watched her. She swirled her tongue against the length of his fingers, and felt the heat building low in her stomach as he groaned.

“ _Fuck_.”

Pulling his hand from her mouth, Weaver pressed those same fingers to her wet folds and kissed her before she could cry out. He teased her mound, finding her clit, as he fucked her and muffled her moans with their kiss. She arched her back into him, pushed closer and closer to the edge, and broke off their kiss with a desperate whimper.

“You feel amazing,” he growled against her lips.

“So do you,” she whispered back, and Weaver grinned at her.

His hand moved between her legs, and his thumb brushed against her folds. Belle had to press her lips together to stop herself from calling out. An electric pulse shot through her, and she threw her head back as Weaver moved in and out of her and played with her clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Are you close?” he teased, and all Belle could do was nod helplessly. “Mm. Good. Come for me.” His hips moved a little faster, becoming a little more frenzied as they both approached their peak. “Come for me, Belle.”

She clung to him, her thighs pressing into his side, and did her best to stay quiet. Her breathing was heavy, ragged, but so was his. It was her need to express how good he was making her feel that Belle struggled with, and Weaver seemed to sense that. He pressed kiss after kiss to her lips and jaw, until she pulled him in for a longer kiss.

Weaver happily returned the kiss and tipped her over the edge when his teeth caught her lower lip. He swallowed down her moans and gasps in their kiss as she trembled against him, and he soon followed after her. His climax chased after her own, filling her, and all Belle could do was wrap her legs and arms tight around him. She gripped him to her until they were both spent and he collapsed on top of her.

A comfortable silence fell over them, punctuated only by their breathing, and neither of them made any effort to break apart. Weaver supported himself on his elbows, stopping himself from crushing her, but his head rested on her chest. The weight of it was a welcome, familiar feeling, and Belle brushed her shaking fingers through his hair. She barely had the energy to do much else, but it didn’t matter when Weaver hummed contentedly and pressed a kiss to her breast.

“That was...” Belle tried to catch her breath and struggled for the right word for how she felt. She was just happy because the sex had been great, more than great, she was happy because she’d missed sharing that with him. Even if he didn’t remember. “That was wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Weaver nodded against her, but didn’t say anything else.

Belle closed her eyes, soothed by the feel of his thumbs brushing against her arms and his warm breath on her skin. Eventually, Weaver’s breath evened out as his night of no sleep finally caught up on him, and Belle pulled the blanket over the back of the sofa down on top of them.

She kissed the top of his head and covered them as best as she could from underneath him.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work, Rumple.” She should have known that the dark curse couldn’t be broken so easily. Of course True Love’s kiss hadn’t worked. He never said he loved her, because he didn’t love her. Not the real her, anyway. He’d called her Isabelle when he’d told her who he wanted, she remembered as she twisted her wedding ring around her finger. It was a cursed idea of her that he loved.

“I’ll find another way for us to be together,” she whispered. “I promise.”


	8. Chipped

**Weaver**

He couldn’t have been asleep for long before Gideon woke him up. The dulled cries of his son  filtered in from the nursery, and Weaver awoke with a groan.

At some point during his short sleep, the sun had fully risen and him and Belle had become entangled in a firm embrace. He wanted to stay with her, to enjoy the feeling of her soft skin and warm curves pressed against him for a little longer, but he couldn’t leave his son. The poor boy probably needed changing and definitely needed feeding.

He untangled himself from Belle’s arms carefully, and pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulders. She shifted only slightly and sighed, but she didn’t wake up. Weaver’s gaze kept drifting back to her as he hurriedly dressed himself. She looked so small, curled up under that blanket, and he felt an overwhelming need to protect her. He had no idea what his mind wanted to protect her from, but then he caught the shine of her wedding ring and frowned.

She didn’t need protecting, not by him. Belle didn’t really want him.

Leaving her nightie on the coffee table, within her reach, Weaver left her and went to Gideon. But out of sight didn’t mean out of mind.

He changed Gideon and put him in fresh clothes, and all the while he kept asking if Belle would regret what they’d done. She would do, Weaver told himself as he set Gideon in his highchair and prepared his breakfast. Belle was still sleeping soundly on the sofa, and he kept checking on her as Gideon ate and made a mess.

Did _he_ regret it? Not really. The only part of him that thought he might regret it, was the niggling voice of doubt that told him that Belle herself would regret having sex with him. How could she not, when she clearly still loved her late husband?

Gideon was sat in his playpen, shaking a toy bear up and down, when Weaver took a quick shower and changed into fresh clothes. He was exhausted, but it was his own fault. He still had to work.

As he was about to leave his room, he felt something pull him back. Something told him to check the top drawer of his bedside table, but he already knew what was in there. In a little black box, hidden under notebooks and other discarded trinkets, was his wedding ring.

He didn’t regret sleeping with Belle, and did that mean he’d forgotten Lacey? Belle still wore her ring. She hadn’t forgotten her husband, but he hadn’t wanted to be reminded of his wife until that point. Some strange voice in the back of his mind told him to put the ring on, so he did.

He traced his finger over the moonstone, trying to remember Lacey’s face, but all he could see was Belle. An image of her wearing Lacey’s blue sequin dress, her hair fastened up, flashed through his mind. He could picture them so clearly, as they walked arm-in-arm through a town he’d never seen before, in a suit he’d definitely never owned.

Weaver frowned. It felt real, but it couldn’t be. He’d never walked with a cane before in his life.

 

* * *

 

**Belle**

Gideon hitting his plastic blocks together finally woke her up. Her body ached, willing her to go back to sleep, but she had a busy day ahead of her and she needed to make the most of it.

She’d checked that Gideon was okay, with the blanket wrapped around her like a dress, and when the boy only giggled at her and threw a block across the floor, she decided she had time to at least change.

Reaching into the few, faint cursed memories she had, Belle put on an outfit that was more Isabelle Paige than Lacey French. She was a little more covered up. The skinny jeans didn’t feel any more like her than the low-backed dresses had, but it was Isabelle that Weaver wanted, not herself or Lacey.

At least she was more bartender than barfly now.

She was playing with Gideon by the time Weaver appeared. Their eyes met and lingered on one another, before he looked at Gideon. She had no idea how to read his expression. He’d looked her over, probably noted that her style had changed yet again, but he didn’t seem to approve or disapprove. It was just something he’d noticed in passing. Something unimportant to him.

Belle’s shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh, and she set Gideon back down in his playpen. The boy immediately pushed himself up onto his feet and started searching through his pile of toys, leaving his parents to stand beside one another.

An awkward energy radiated off him, and something else. There was something darker there that almost felt like his magic, but Belle didn’t dare let herself hope that that was it. She looked at him, at his sharp profile as he watched Gideon play, and wished she could tell what he was thinking.

Did he regret it? Did he want her to leave? She looked him over, in the same way that he had done her, and stilled when she saw his hand.

"You're wearing your ring." The words left her before she could think about whether or not it was a good idea to say them.

Weaver cast her a brief glance, and nodded stiffly. "So are you."

She toyed with her own ring at the reminder of it, at a loss for words. He was right, of course. Isabelle Paige wouldn’t still be wearing her wedding ring. She could dress and act like Lacey all she wanted; it hadn’t worked to make Weaver love her. She could dress up as Isabelle, too, but that wouldn’t be enough for their kiss to wake him. She would never really be Isabelle, unless...

"I can't take it off," she said quietly, and Weaver scoffed.

"Interesting sense of loyalty."

“Would...” Belle trailed off. When she didn’t finish what she’d begun to say, he finally turned to look at her properly, expectantly. “Would you like me to take it off?”

His eyes dropped to the ring, as she twirled it around her finger, and returned to her face. It took him a moment to think over her offer, but he couldn’t have known exactly what it was she was offering him. Weaver wanted Isabelle. That was clear now. Maybe she had to actually become Isabelle for True Love’s kiss to work, because it certainly wasn’t Belle herself that he loved.

“It would make things easier,” he answered.

Belle just nodded. She didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t quite ready to take her ring off, not yet. It was becoming tempting, and increasingly she felt sure that it would be the only way to give True Love’s kiss a chance, but she couldn’t do it yet. She certainly didn’t want to do it with Weaver watching.

When she said nothing, he turned away from her and Gideon and grabbed his keys from beside the door.

“Wait,” she called after him. “I could make you something to eat before you go.”

Weaver turned up the collar of his jacket and opened the apartment door, determined to leave.

"I'll pick something up on my way to the station,” he said flatly. “You're not my maid."

She knew she should just let him go. It would have been better for both of them to give them some space. They needed time to think, but Belle didn’t want him to leave when things were so strained between them. Rumple’s presence was usually a comforting one, and she needed his comfort in that moment.

“Don’t go,” she insisted, quickly closing the gap between them. She put her hand over his where he held the door, stopping him before he could even step out of the apartment.

“I’m late for work,” Weaver said gruffly, but he didn’t make any attempt to pull his hand free of hers. He turned his head toward her, and Belle realised just how close she’d stood to him. All she had to do was tilt her head back and the tips of their noses touched. She held her breath, expecting him to pull away then, but he still stayed where he was, and they drew closer. The side of their noses rubbed together and Belle’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Belle?”

“Yes.” Their lips brushed as she spoke, and then that was it. Weaver let go of the door, not to leave, but to pull her against him, and Belle eagerly returned his kiss. It filled her with a wave of relief, because if he was kissing her, then surely he couldn’t have regretted what they did. And he was kissing her quite thoroughly. His tongue flicked against her lips and she opened her mouth to him, with her hands fisted in the collar of his leather jacket. It was rough and desperate and exactly what she wanted, and then Gideon gave a happy shout and they broke apart.

Weaver stepped back, panting heavily and turned to look at his son. Belle was struggling just as much to catch her breath, and her lips felt flushed and thoroughly kissed. She must have been a blushing mess, but Weaver wasn’t looking at her.

He deliberately avoided looking her way, and both of them latched onto the distraction that Gideon offered. The boy held up one of his toys, a little plastic dragon, and hit it against the bars of his playpen.

“Papa do magic!” he declared, holding out the dragon. Belle clutched her hands in front of her chest, glancing between her son and husband, but Weaver didn’t show any signs of understanding what Gideon was asking for.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t use magic as freely as he used to, but his sons were his weakness, and he wasn’t above using a little magic to enchant Gideon’s toys. Like making a little toy dragon fly.

Weaver had no memory of that, but Gideon was awake and his father and toy dragon were there, and that’s what he wanted.

“Papa,” Gideon said again, his excitement turning to distress when Weaver only stood there, confused. “Dragon fly!”

“Papa’s got to go to work, Gideon,” Belle said quickly, sidestepping Weaver to go to Gideon’s aid. The boy clung to her as she lifted him into her arms, his little fist gripping her shirt, but he still waved the toy at his father.

“Maybe later, son,” Weaver promised, casting Belle a suspicious look. He knew he was missing something, he just had no way of knowing what.

“Come on,” Belle said, setting Gideon against her hip. “Why don’t we find a book to read?”

Gideon looked torn for just a moment, but after she repeated herself, he quickly forgot about wanting his dragon to flying. Until Belle took the toy from him to put it back in his toy box, and he whined and kicked his legs.

“Mama,” he protested, and the apartment door closed behind her.

Weaver was gone.

Things had never been so awkward between them after sex before. Not even after their first time together. Granted, their first time had been quickly followed by their second and third times, but it had never been awkward. It was always sweet and satisfying and exciting and loving. Never this. Never bitter or full of uncertainty.

Belle took Gideon for a walk after she’d read to him. She needed space to think, away from Weaver’s apartment and the room they’d slept together in. Outside, she was just like every other cursed member of the city. No one looked at her. No one cared about the ring on her finger, and no one knew that she’d spent the morning with the Heights’ most morally ambiguous detective.

It felt freeing.

She walked with Gideon in his stroller, down street after street, until she found the park. It wasn’t very big, and it was mostly just an open field with some trees, benches, and a little pond, but it was a good place to stop and think.

Belle sat Gideon on her knee, and the boy kicked his legs happily as he looked around. Only a few people walked by, enjoying the sun or in a hurry to be somewhere else, and none of them paid her or Gideon any mind.

It wasn’t until Gideon started to point at something that Belle realised someone _was_ heading towards them, and they intended to stop.

“Alice?”

“Who’s Alice?” Alice - who wasn’t Alice - asked with a bright grin. She stood in front of them, her thumb looped through the straps of her backpack, and stuck out her other hand. “I’m Tilly.”

Belle shook her hand, breathing a sigh of relief. Of course Alice was Tilly. He seemed to remember some sort of connection between himself, Gideon, and Alice, but he couldn’t remember her.

“Belle,” she returned.

“Oh, I know who you are.” Tilly sat down beside her. “Weaver’s told me all about you, Isabelle.”

“Has he?”

“Well, sort of.” Swinging her bag around, Tilly set it on the ground and opened it up. She pulled out a packet of something, set it on her knee, and started unfolding it. “It’s usually me what does all the talking. Like just now.”

“You were just talking to Weaver?” Belle asked. She looked around the park, and over Tilly’s shoulder, but she couldn’t see him. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

“Yeah, but he’s gone now,” she said around a mouthful of sandwich, and eyed Belle closely. “You’re happy about that.”

“I… suppose I am. In a way,” she hesitated. Tilly just lowered her sandwich, waiting for her to elaborate, and Belle sighed. “I think he’s angry with me.”

To her surprise, Tilly laughed and returned to her sandwich. She finished another bite, nodding as she swallowed it, before she replied.

"He might be. He's a grumpy old sod sometimes, but that won't last. Never does." She gave Belle a smile that suggested she’d know exactly what she meant. "And even if he is, everything's fixable, no matter how broken. Even a chipped cup has value."

“What?”

Tilly shrugged a shoulder and broke off a small piece of her sandwich for Gideon. Belle let him take it, and he ate it happily as she watched the two of them. She knew from her time as Lacey that sometimes parts of a person could bleed through the curse. Somewhere in there, Alice still knew about Rumple and Belle and their cup. There was no reason to be suspicious of Tilly. She was more concerned that Weaver hadn’t said anything similar, other than telling her she wasn’t his maid.

“I just mean, he’s difficult to get on with,” Tilly explained, “but I know he likes you. He wouldn’t keep you around if he didn’t.”

“Right.” She wished she could be as sure of that as Tilly sounded. “What did he want to talk about?”

“Can’t say. _But_ ,” she stood up, finishing her sandwich, “he likes you, Miss Paige. Don’t forget that.”

Tilly winked and turned to leave. Belle let her go. If Tilly was anything like Alice, she’d be just as cryptic as she usually was if Belle tried to ask her to elaborate.

Pressing her lips together, Belle hugged Gideon a little closer. She hoped Tilly was right, because she’d quickly ran out of ways to wake Rumple up.

Now she only had one idea. If she’d realised anything from writing their story, it was that True Love’s kiss by itself wasn’t enough to break the Dark Curse. There needed to be something more. A kiss hadn’t worked with Lacey and Mr. Gold because he wasn't really Mr. Gold and he wasn’t in love with Lacey.

Maybe that was why it hadn’t worked with her and Weaver. Weaver wasn’t in love with her. He liked Isabelle.

She looked down at her ring, took a deep breath, and stood up.

“Tilly, wait!”


	9. Perspective

He knew work wouldn’t be enough to distract him from Belle, but he’d still hurried off to the station and left her with Gideon. The poor lad had called her mama again. He must have been so confused, and the whole thing made Weaver an odd mixture of uncomfortable and… hopeful.

Maybe that wasn’t quite the right word, but while part of him knew it was wrong for Gideon to call her mama, a small part of him _liked_ it. He couldn’t explain why.

In the end, hours before his shift was due to end, Weaver had made his excuses to Rogers - and told him where he could shove his concern and work hours - before he headed back to his apartment. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Isabelle when he got there. He’d have to make something up on the spot; feed her some excuse for him being home early, and hope that she was as pleased to see him as he was her.

They had to talk about that morning. He had to know if she regretted it, because he sure as hell didn’t. He wanted more of that. He wanted more of her.

The door was unlocked when he arrived, and he pushed it open with a cautious nudge of his boot.

“You’re back early,” a voice chirped from inside. That only deepened Weaver’s frown, and he stepped inside to see Tilly sitting upside down in the armchair, reading a familiar notebook.

"Tilly?"

"Detective," she returned with a smirk, and flipped to the next page of Isabelle’s book.

"Where's Isabelle?"

"Isabelle?" Tilly repeated. "Or Belle?"

"What-- Tilly, just tell me where she is."

With an exasperated sigh, Tilly pushed herself around and sat upright. She narrowed her eyes at him from over the notebook and used it to point at him.

“You’re looking at things all wrong, detective,” she said decisively.

“I don’t have time for this. Where is she? Where’s Gideon?”

“He’s in his nursery.”

“Great. And Belle?”

Tilly rolled her eyes and slumped back in the armchair. She wasn’t going to answer him, and she made that clear when she raised the notebook to hide her face. It was upside down.

Weaver sighed.

“What am I missing?”

“Lots of things.” Tilly put her feet up onto the coffee table, boots and all, and made herself comfortable.

“What sort of things?” he asked, batting her feet away from the table. “Sit up.”

“She says she needed space to think. I offered to bring Gideon home.” She did sit up, for all of a second, before she swung her legs over the arm of the chair and sat sideways instead. Weaver sighed, giving up.

“This is a good book,” she continued. “Have you read it?”

He plucked the notebook from her hand and closed it. “No, I haven’t read it.”

“You should.”

“It’s private.”

“I think she’d want you to read it.”

“Just… Where is she, Tilly? Did she say where she was going?”

“No. Only that she wouldn’t be long.”

“And she left you with Gideon?” he asked. Tilly nodded. “Why?”

With a shrug, Tilly stood up and reached for the notebook again. “Said she needed time to think. You should probably do the same.”

“I don’t need to think,” Weaver snapped, without thinking, and winced when he saw the amused shine in Tilly’s eyes. She swiped the book from him before he could hold it out of her reach, and sat back down.

“You really should read this. It’ll give you a new perspective.”

“I don’t need a new perspective. I need to talk to Belle.”

Leaving Tilly before she could say anything else, and knowing that Gideon would be safe with her, Weaver hurried back down to the street. It was nearly dark, and wherever Isabelle had disappeared to, she wouldn’t be out for much longer.

Unless she’d gone to Roni’s, he thought. He hadn’t seen her drinking, but she did used to work there and there weren’t many other places that she knew in the Heights.

With a determined gate, because it was the only place he could think of to look, Weaver made his way to Roni’s. At the very least, maybe Roni had seen her. There weren’t many other people, besides Tilly, that he could actually talk to about his… well, whatever Belle was to him.

He didn’t have to walk long before he spotted her walking towards him, from the direction of Roni’s. He breathed a sigh of relief, letting go of the weight that had settled on his shoulders, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her. Until she got closer. There was something different about her. She had more of a sway to her hips, and the smirk she sent him was far darker and more mischievous than any of the wonderfully bright smiles she’d sent him before.

“Belle?” he greeted, and his concern only worsened. She wrinkled her nose in thought and stopped in front of him.

“You know, I think I prefer Izzy.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I just,” she shrugged, “It sounds right.”

Had she always been so… Australian?

Weaver looked her over again, double-checking that he hadn’t somehow missed something, like a bump on the head, but nothing else about her was out of place. Her skirt was as short as ever, her heels were dangerously tall, and her shirt was low cut enough to give a tantalising glimpse of the top of her breasts.

It was his worried gaze that brought a more mischievous glint to Belle’s - _Izzy’s_ \- eyes. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back in the direction he came; back to his own apartment.

Tilly was exactly where he’d left her, reclining in his chair with her legs draped over the arm. They’d no sooner walked in the door, than she was up on her feet and saying she’d get out of their hair. She took a packet of cookies with her, and a sandwich when Weaver insisted that she couldn’t live off cookies alone.

He was still in the kitchen when the door shut behind her, and he stayed quiet as he listened to Belle shuffling around in the lounge. Now that they were alone together, all of the things he’d wanted to say after that morning fled his mind. He couldn’t think of anything but what they’d done and what she was wearing.

When she entered the kitchen, Weaver turned to leave, but she stopped him.

“Wasn’t there something you wanted?” she asked, biting her lip.

“I… what?”

With a fond roll of her eyes, Belle grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him back into the kitchen. He went willingly, partly too stunned to think to pull away, and partly curious about what she intended to do.

“You wanted something,” she pointed out, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “What was it?”

“Belle--”

“ _Izzy_.”

“We need to talk.”

“About this morning?” She lifted her foot, pressing her heel into the cupboard door, and Weaver wondered if she knew how tempted he was to do more than kiss her. She must have done. The dark amusement in her eyes was still there; watching him and waiting for him to give in and pin her back.

“Right,” he agreed, dragging his eyes up from the length of her bare legs. She needed to stop standing like that. “And us.”

“Us,” Belle repeated. Something in her eyes changed, from mischievous to hopeful, but then it was gone before he had a chance to be sure of what he saw.

She hummed thoughtfully and tracked a finger down the front of his shirt.

“Well, I like you.” She licked her lips. “Do you like me?”

“I--” Her finger hooked over the top of his jeans, and she smiled when he faltered. “Yeah. _Yes._ I like you.”

“Good.” Tugging on his belt, Belle pulled him into a kiss and he couldn’t help himself. He kissed her back, pinning her between his body and the counter with his hands on her hips. She wound her arms around his shoulders and moaned when he rocked his hips against her.

They hadn’t really talked, the voice of doubt reminded him, but that alone wasn’t enough to make him pull away from her when she flicked her tongue across his lips. Nor was the feel of her hand fumbling with his belt. It was only when her hand slipped into the waistband of his boxers that Weaver pulled back to search her face.

Something was different about her. She’d looked at him with something tender and tentative that morning. He was hesitant to call it a loving look, but the softness in her eyes and the gentle way she touched him were gone now. Now there was just lust, and a look of daring, as if she was challenging him somehow, and herself. Maybe she really didn't expect him to give in to what they both wanted.

Maybe his first impression of her, that she was pretending to be someone else, was correct.

Belle lifted her hand to stroke his cheek, but Weaver caught it and stopped her.

“You can’t want this, Belle.”

“ _Izzy_ ,” she corrected, pulling her hand from his to run it through his hair. He hated himself for reacting immediately to her touch and leaning into it. “And what if I do want this?”

“We’re in the kitchen.”

“And?” Her hand fell from his hair to trace down his jaw. It sent an excited shudder down his spine to feel her hands all over him. His own hands still gripped her hips, and it was taking all his self control to stop himself from slipping them under her shirt.

“You deserve better,” he whispered.

Belle changed again, for just a second. Her hard edges softened and her eyes sparkled with something he couldn’t quite place. And then it was gone. She huffed a laugh and rocked her hips forward into his, pushing herself into his half-hard cock.

“I decide what I want, and I want you.” He bucked his hips into hers and Belle grinned, letting him grind himself against her. “Do you still want me, detective?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Good.”

She kissed him again. It was so messy and frenzied, but he didn’t care. She hummed against his lips and he bunched up her skirt. His jeans were already hanging open at the front, and Belle was making the most of that, palming him through his boxers. He gasped into their kiss and Belle laughed.

“Is that good?” she teased, rubbing her hand a little firmer against his cock.

“Yes.” He dipped down to kiss her neck, and she pressed her head back into the wall. “God yes.”

He needed to distract himself unless he wanted to make a mess in his jeans. Belle must have known that. The happy little sounds she made told him that she had absolutely no intention of stopping.

Sliding his hand under her skirt, Weaver groaned when he felt the gusset of her lacy underwear. She was so wet already. He pushed her underwear down, and Belle sighed when his fingers circled her wet folds.

“Is that good?” he teased back, and she squeezed his cock as payback. “Mm-- I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It’s more than a yes,” Belle panted in his ear. She kissed his cheek and jaw, and gasped back he slid a finger into her. She was so soft and warm, and he couldn’t tell which he loved more; the feel of her or the sweet moans she sighed against his ear. She nipped at his earlobe and groaned. “I need more.”

“We should go to your room.”

“My room,” she echoed with a rueful smile, her eyes fluttering shut, and added with a whisper, “I can’t wait.” She pushed her hips forward. “I need you _now_.”

“I don’t--”

“ _Please_.” Fuck, how could he turn her down when she begged him so prettily? “I thought you were a man who takes what he wants?”

He took a deep breath. “I am.”

“Then take _me_.”

That was it.

With hands that suddenly couldn't move fast enough, Weaver took his hand from between her legs and pulled her skirt up around her hips. Belle hopped up onto the counter then did the same to him. She pushed down his jeans and boxers with eager hands, and he was glad she hadn’t worn her own jeans. He wanted her to wrap those beautiful legs of hers around him. He wanted to feel her thighs gripping him tight as she came.

“Open your legs,” he instructed. She parted her knees with a smirk on her face and not a trace of hesitation. She meant it, and her goading had worked. He wasn’t going to back out, either.

“Now what, detective?”

“Miss Paige,” Weaver growled, taking his place between her legs, “do you have a thing for the badge?”

“Hmm. Am I that obvious?” She took him in hand and guided him to her wetness with a satisfied little hum. Weaver leaned into her and rolled his hips forward, entering her slowly. She had to bite down on his shoulder to silence herself. Gideon was sleeping soundly when they checked on him, but he still heard her excited whimper and they both froze. It sent an excited jolt through him, straight around his groin, as her nails scratched the back of his head.

“What is it you like?” he panted, bucking his hips against her again. She keened in his ear and lifted a leg around his waist. “The power or the handcuffs?”

Belle laughed breathlessly and gripped him tighter.

“You can use the handcuffs next time,” she promised, pulling on his hair. He let her tilt his head back with an amused grin, and she pulled him into a kiss that made it hard to think.

That morning hadn’t been free of desperation, but something about it had been slower. This was more frantic, both of them desperate just to touch and feel one another. It wasn’t just the tender glint hidden from Belle’s eyes, but it had gone from her touch, too. Everything, from the way she scratched his head and bit his lip, to the needy sounds she made, was greedy and heated.

She didn’t seem to care about how hard he was pushing her back into the counter. It might have been his imagination but at one point he was sure he heard her chanting _harder_ under her breath, but he might not have.

“I’m close,” she whispered, and that was unmistakable. Her walls tightened around him and her hands gripped him tighter. She kept switching between moans of, “yes, detective,” and, “fuck me,” and he couldn’t decide which he preferred. But he couldn’t last with her saying things like that in his ear. His own climax hit him first, but Belle couldn’t have sounded happier. She smiled and hummed her encouragement as he filled her, and a second later she followed him over the edge. She shuddered against him, clinging onto him, and he tried not to give into the sated feel that washed over him. It would have been so easy to collapse against her, but he held himself up and kept her pinned to the counter until her hands relaxed on his shirt.

“Gods,” she said, struggling to steady her breathing. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He laughed, painfully aware of how gruff his voice sounded, and pulled away from her to straighten his clothes.

“Not even after this morning?”

She grinned playfully, pushing down her skirt. “This was different. This was… I don’t know. It was just different, don’t you think?”

“I know what you mean.”

He fastened his belt and gave them both another moment to make themselves more presentable while they caught their breaths. Belle was giving him a thoughtful look by the time he was done and she’d brushed her fingers through her hair.

“You said something about a bed,” she said with a smile that looked far too timid for a woman who’d just had sex in his kitchen.

“I did.” He grinned. “Shall we?”


	10. Storytime

For three days, Weaver had been watching Belle closely. Belle, who now wanted to be called Izzy, had been brilliant with Gideon until _that day_ ; the day he’d crossed a line and slept with his son’s nanny. Twice.

Now she was distant with the poor boy. She was still good with him. She was attentive to his needs and played with him, but she was withdrawn. She winced and stiffened when he called her mama. When before she would smile brightly and cuddle him, now she looked torn between holding him or putting him down. Weaver had always been the one to cringe and wish Gideon would stop doing that. Now it seemed their roles were reversed.

That wasn’t the only thing that had changed. The way she carried herself was different. It was as though Belle was playing a part, like her clothes and hair were all a costume, but he couldn’t deny she embraced all her revealing clothes very well. She walked with a confident sway to her hips, and kept calling him _detective_ in a way that sounded more sinful than it had any right to, but it still didn’t feel right.

She’d also stolen his handcuffs and dragged him into her room after putting Gideon to bed, but he wasn’t complaining about that change.

Now Belle was stretched out on the sofa, flicking through her notebook with a little frown on her face, as Gideon played on the floor beside her. Weaver hadn’t slept yet. He’d spent the whole night out with Rogers, trying to find out what they could about Henry Mills. Tilly still insisted that Weaver should be nicer to him. He was starting to think she was right.

“Have you read this?” Belle asked, dragging him from his thoughts.

He looked up from his coffee and she held up her notebook, opened to two pages full of writing. She had lovely handwriting.

“No, why would I?” He frowned, taking it from her out of curiosity. He’d caught brief glimpses of her writing in it, and at first he’d thought it was just her diary, until he saw the name _Rumplestiltskin_. Either it _was_ her diary and she was writing in code, or she loved writing her own fairy tales.

Her and Henry Mills would get on a treat. Not that Weaver wanted to encourage that friendship.

“You can if you want,” she said with a little shrug as he read over one of the pages.

_He kissed the top of Gideon’s head and held him close._

Weaver closed the book.

“What’s it about?”

Belle bit her lip, as if she either couldn’t think of a way to explain her stories, or she didn’t want to. “I… don’t remember?”

It sounded like a question, and Weaver watched her closely as she waited to hear his reply.

“You mustn’t be getting enough sleep,” he teased as he handed it back to her. Belle’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink and she smirked at him as she snatched it back.

“You’re the one who stayed up all night, detective,” she reminded.

“And now I’m taking a break.” He nudged her feet and waited for her to move them so he could sit beside her. “Maybe you should think about doing the same.”

Belle stretched out her arms and gave an exaggerated yawn. She moved like a lithe cat as she relaxed back into the sofa cushions and crossed her ankles over his lap.

She was gorgeous and he wanted to kiss her, but it had become an unspoken rule between them not to kiss in front of Gideon again. Not that the boy was paying them any attention. He played with his purple dragon, making it fly high over his other toys, blissfully unaware of what his papa and nanny were doing behind him.

“Detective?” Belle - _Izzy_ \- asked, running her heel lightly over his thigh. He grabbed her ankle before she could run it back up his leg, and she grinned at him. “I’ll be good,” she promised quietly, and he released her.

“I find that hard to believe.”

She snorted and put her foot back down in his lap. “You’re too suspicious.”

“Comes with the job.”

“Can’t you tell I’m innocent?”

He traced his fingers up her bare calf, and she smiled. “There’s nothing innocent about you.”

“There is when I’m working,” Belle insisted, holding his hand to stop it from trailing any higher. “I just like to tease you.”

“Tease me?”

She released his hand and leaned back with an amused twinkle in her eyes. “I wanted to get you hot and bothered under all that denim of yours before I left.” She pouted. “But you ruined my fun.”

Weaver wished he could say her teasing hadn’t worked, but even just the idea of her deliberately running her heels up his thigh made him stir. Not that he was going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that. She affected him too easily and he needed to stop their game of… whatever it was they were doing, from going too far.

“You’re going out?” he asked steadily.

“Mm.” She tilted her head to the side, playing with the hair that had fallen out of her messy bun. “Not for long. Do you think you can cope without me while I run to the store?”

Weaver took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the brim of his mug. She looked so content just sitting there, and the possible implications of how comfortable she was in that apartment, with him, with his son, were a dangerous path to wander down. Lacey had had a similarly laid back nature, and now Belle did, too. As if she was perfectly at home with him and Gideon, and they were a happy family.

He frowned and put his mug on the coffee table.

“I’ll be fine,” he said curtly. “I’m sure I can look after my own son for an hour or two.”

He didn’t look at her after that. He kept his eyes firmly glued on Gideon, but somehow he knew the look that would be on her face. There’d be hurt in her eyes, a determined frown above them, and he’d crumble and apologise the second he looked at her. So he didn’t.

“Right,” she huffed when she realised he really wasn’t going to look her way, and pushed herself up. Her heel jabbed into the side of his thigh and he winced, but he didn’t say anything. He deserved it after dismissing her so abruptly.

Belle moved around the apartment, grabbing her jacket and purse. Then she hesitated by the front door, but still he refused to look at her.

“You can read it if you want to,” she said by way of goodbye, and slammed the door behind her.

Weaver sighed and let his shoulders sag. Gideon stopped playing long enough to look inquisitively at the door, and then up at his father.

“Oh dear,” he declared, and Weaver supposed he must have heard Belle say that. He rubbed his face and tried not to think about that, or anything to do with Belle. His feelings for her were quickly heading in a direction he didn’t want them to, and comparing her and his son wasn’t going to help.

He was Lacey’s son, he reminded himself, and Belle wasn’t Lacey.

“Oh dear,” Gideon said again, louder, and pointed at him with his dragon. “Dearie.”

Weaver laughed. “Is that what he’s called?” He scooped Gideon up off the floor and the boy squealed in delight, giggling as he was set on his father’s knee. “Dearie the dragon?”

Gideon made a sound that Weaver supposed was a yes and held the dragon out for him. “Do magic?”

He sighed again. “If only. Things would be easier with magic, wouldn’t they?”

Gideon looked away, as if he was giving the question a lot of thought, and dropped Dearie the dragon. He leaned across Weaver’s lap and picked something else up, Belle’s book, and Weaver had to concede that he wasn’t going to be able to take his mind off her if he just sat there.

“Has she been reading this to you?” Weaver asked, taking the notebook from him. Gideon didn’t protest, but he did give a little whine when Weaver only put it down on the coffee table without opening it. “Let’s get you something to eat first,” he soothed. “Then maybe we’ll read some of it.”

Food was a good way of distracting Gideon, and he forgot all about Belle’s book after he’d eaten and returned to his toys. Weaver didn’t want to remind him about it, either. He let the boy amuse himself while he sat in the armchair, because the sofa reminded him too much of Belle, and went over a new case file.

Time flew away from him as he worked and chatted with Gideon. Most of their talks consisted of Gideon asking for magic, and when Weaver asked him what else he wanted to do, the boy simply raised his hands and shouted, “Spin!”

It was the weird things his son kept saying that finally made him give in, almost an hour after Belle had left. He picked up her book and sat Gideon in his lap.

It wasn’t just one, long story that Belle had been working on, but several, shorter ones. As he flicked through the pages, Weaver found stories set in a castle, tales about different couples in a place called Storybrooke, and fantasies in an enchanted forest. Gideon seemed to like those the best.

He didn’t read out any of the ones about Mr. Gold, but he caught the name several times. Those stories seemed too personal and he’d deliberately skipped over them without reading a single word beyond her husband’s name. Instead, Weaver read one of the fantasy stories, and a second when Gideon settled against his chest and showed no desire to move.

“ _With a brief, backward glance to his wheel, Rumplestiltskin stood and stiffly sat down beside her_ ,” Weaver read out. Gideon didn’t do anything when he stopped reading, and he knew the boy had fallen asleep.

He closed the book and kissed the top of Gideon’s head. A crackle of energy burst between them, and Weaver pulled back so fast that Gideon woke up. The little boy rubbed at his head, his nose scrunched up, and looked up at him with wide eyes.

Rumple stared back at him, stunned. His head swam, bombarded with a flood of memories. They fought against the memories that had filled his head for months. There was only one person that couldn't be replaced by either set of memories; who'd occupied his thoughts as both Weaver and himself.

"Belle."


	11. Can't Sleep

**Belle**

Belle hadn’t intended to stay away for so long. She just needed time to think, away from Weaver.

 _I’m sure I can look after my own son for an hour or two._ Those were his parting words to her and Belle couldn’t understand his sudden change. She wanted to snap at him and remind him that Gideon was _her_ son, too, but she couldn’t because she’d failed at breaking his curse. Kissing him hadn’t worked. Pretending to be Lacey, the woman he loved, hadn’t worked. Pretending to be her cursed self and sleeping with him, several times, hadn’t worked. She'd been trying to get close and stay close to him, but now she was sure he wanted no more from her than what she’d already given.

She’d left him with a little nudge to read their story, but that doubt had gnawed at her since she’d walked past the grocery store and made her way to the Second Star diner.

That had been another terrible idea of hers. It seemed she was full of awful ideas and everything she hoped to happen _wouldn’t_ happen. She’d sat alone for a good half an hour before a young man slipped into the seat opposite her.

Belle was disappointed and disheartened, she wanted her husband and son back, but seeing Henry and his open smile at least gave her some comfort. Some part of him must have felt like he knew her, for him to want to sit with her.

He’d greeted her with a simple ‘ _hey_ ’ and asked if she was all right. She’d briefly contemplated being honest, as honest as she could be, with him. But Henry had cursed memories of writing his own book, and she wasn’t certain just how much he knew about her and Rumple’s story. She had to keep things simple, and then she asked him about his family.

Knowing that he and Jacinda were still drawn to each other was another small comfort.

"It was... sort of a date," Henry said, telling her about his week as they both enjoyed a cup of hot chocolate.

"I think it's sweet."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You were helping her. Dates don't all have to be romantic dinners and candlelight," she said, and the wistful sigh in her own voice wasn’t lost on her. "Just being together should be enough."

Henry smiled at that and nodded. He took a sip of his drink and Belle did the same, waiting for him to voice the question he obviously wanted to ask.

"So, you and Weaver," he said hesitantly. "What was your first date?"

Belle’s smile was probably brighter than it needed to be, but she’d expected him to ask something far more serious than about her first date with his grandpa.

"It was in a diner," she answered. It was probably best not to mention that it was Granny’s, because surely that would feature in his book, and Henry frowned. He must have realised she was holding back.

"Like this place?" he pressed.

"A little, but we could have had dinner in the back of his shop and it would have been enough."

"His shop?"

Belle’s hands tightened on her mug. The hot chocolate hadn’t cooled much and the heat seeped almost painfully into her hands, but she couldn’t let go. The curse wouldn’t let her just explain away Weaver once owning a shop, and she couldn’t think of a way out of it without lying to Henry.

"What do you think of him?" She spoke so quickly she worried he might not have heard her, but his curious frown smoothed away and he shook his head in surprise; forgetting all about her little slip-up.

"No, I couldn't--"

"Please," she interrupted gently. "It's important."

"Well, I... He did give me a black eye."

Belle sucked in a breath and looked down. She shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that. It wasn’t that dissimilar to the first curse in Storybrooke. No one had trusted Mr. Gold, and Weaver could be as handy with his fists as Gold had been with his cane, but this was still different. She didn't want anything to strain the relationship Rumple had with his grandson - Neal's son - even if they were both cursed.

"I'm so sorry," Belle whispered. What else could she say? He wouldn’t believe her if she told him the man who’d hit him actually had a kind heart and loved him. No one would.

"But I saw a different side to him when he was with you and your son," Henry continued, waving off her apology. "You still want me to give him a chance?"

"I think one day you'll realise he's not what he seems," she promised.

Henry nodded thoughtfully and a silence settled between them as they both finished their hot chocolates. Belle glanced around the rest of the diner. She didn’t recognise anyone from the last time she’d been there, with Weaver, and it slowly brought back her sadness. This place wasn’t home. It wasn’t familiar like Storybrooke, but she couldn’t leave while Rumple and Gideon, or Henry and his daughter still needed help.

"I tried to apologise to him. Asked for some sorta truce, but--" Henry shrugged.

"What?"

"I don't know, it was weird. He just looked at me like," he shifted in his seat, gesturing with his hands, "like he wasn't really... seeing me, you know?"

“Like he remembered something?”

Henry nodded slowly, thinking it over. “Yeah, I guess.”

Belle sank back in her seat. There was something that had played on her mind from the moment she’d met Rumple as Weaver. He seemed to have moments of recollection when it came to Gideon and Alice, or he’d feed her the odd line from their past, but he’d never looked at her like he remembered her. She was happy for Henry, even if he didn’t understand what that look meant.

“What do you think he--” Belle began, at the same time as the diner’s bell chimed to welcome a new customer.

“Speak of the devil,” Henry said, nodding towards the door.

Belle twisted in her seat, and over the heads of the other diners, she saw Weaver looking everyone over until their eyes finally met.

“I think I’ll leave you to it.” He stood as Weaver came closer, and Belle’s hand shot out to stop him.

“Oh, no. Henry, you don’t have to--”

“It’s fine, really,” he promised, resting his hand over hers where she clutched his arm. “You two look like you have a lot to talk about.” With a final nod, he slipped out of her grasp and passed Weaver.

“Detective.”

“Henry,” Weaver returned, with a soft smile she’d never seen on him before. But she’d seen it on Rumple many times.

She tried to steady her breathing as he slid into the booth opposite her and pushed Henry’s empty mug to the side.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“Would you care if you had?”

She shouldn’t have been so blunt with him, but he’d been the one to push her away. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t really need her help to take care of Gideon, and she’d been gone for a couple of hours now. What right did he have to pretend to care now and come looking for her?

“I was worried,” he said, taking her hand. He rubbed the back of her ring finger with his thumb, and his eyes went glassy.

Belle pulled her hand away and that seemed to cause him even more pain. She didn’t know why. Nothing about his reaction made sense. He was too gentle and worried for a man who supposedly felt nothing for the woman he was sleeping with.

“You didn't come back,” he said quietly.

“I was going to, but--” She shrugged hopelessly and looked down into her empty mug. She found herself wishing she’d drank it slower. At least then she’d have something to do with her hands, because the urge to reach out for him was a difficult one to ignore. It took her too long, among the jumble of emotions and her settling annoyance, to realise that Weaver had come alone.

“Where’s Gideon?” she asked, frowning.

“I had to leave him with Tilly.”

 _Right_ , of course. That whole day had been one mess and failure after another. All of her plans to wake Rumple had been useless and now she’d pushed him into leaving their son with someone else, because he couldn’t trust her to do her job properly and come back.

“Does that mean I’m out of a job?” she tried to joke, to ease some of the tension building between them. It didn’t work. Weaver shook his head seriously, his hand hovering over hers as if he longed to hold her but didn’t think he could.

“No,” he said. She didn’t like the broken note in his voice. “No, of course not.”

He was different. It wasn’t just his curtness from earlier between them. He was holding back and now he was softer somehow. As if her plans hadn’t been a waste and they’d slowly chipped away at Weaver’s rough edges. Belle pursed her lips.

 _Rumple_?

“Izzy, I’m… I’m sorry.”

 _Oh._ Maybe she’d let hope blind her somehow, but Rumple wouldn’t call her that. He’d know she was awake. She was still wearing his ring, and hers worked, unlike the one Weaver had decided to put back on.

“Come back to the apartment with me?” he asked, offering her his hand.

“Yeah.” She took his hand, defeated. “Sure.”

* * *

**Rumple**

He’d been hoping for more than tired resignation when he found her in the diner. Belle always looked at him with love, but Izzy greeted him with a tired indifference that dashed all hopes that Belle was still awake.

No one knew the curse more intimately than him. It would be filling in the gaps created by her time as Belle; explaining away her book, and making excuses for Gideon thinking she was his mother.

He didn’t know what had happened to make the curse finally take hold, and he wondered how it had changed her perception of their relationship. Did she remember how Belle had felt when Weaver first walked into the bar and ordered a drink? Did she remember the times they’d had sex while she had still clearly been Belle? Her desire for him -- or was it for Weaver? -- certainly hadn’t changed between Belle becoming Izzy.

She still wore her ring. Rumple watched her playing with it that evening, as she prepared them all dinner and fed Gideon, but it seemed more of a nervous tick than any act of sentimentality. She’d even left it up to him, thinking he was Weaver, to put Gideon to bed, and had winced and turned away when he called her ‘mama’ and reached out for her.

Belle would have no reason to be hurt by their son calling her that. Weaver hadn’t liked it. Weaver had wanted Gideon to stop calling her that, until his feelings for Belle had grown and he’d started to like the idea of her being the mother of his son. He had no way of knowing she actually _was_ Gideon’s mother.

Rumple lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and trying to plan his next move. Breaking the curse for everyone would take too much time, especially when there was so much woven into the new curse that he hadn’t put there himself, but he could at least try to wake Belle, and then Henry and Alice.

To wake himself he’d needed a combination of things. He’d needed his enchanted wedding ring, Belle’s little notebook to nudge his memories back into place, and True Love’s kiss. He had the ring and the notebook, and Izzy had been more than willing to kiss Weaver, but she obviously didn’t love him. Rumple frowned and turned over onto his side.

It was just the curse, he reminded himself. Belle loved him and Gideon, and he’d find a way to bring her back.

The door creaked open, letting in a narrow line of light from the hall, and a shadow reached over the bed.

“Detective?”

Planning would have to wait. For now, he had to pretend to be Weaver.

He sat up and turned to the door. She was more of a silhouette with the hall light behind her, but he could see her gripping the door frame. She’d never come into Weaver’s bedroom before. She must have thought he’d turn her away.

“Izzy,” he said, at a loss for what else to say. It worked to calm her, if only a little. He didn’t turn her away or ask her why she was there, so she stood a little taller as she stepped into his room and shut the door behind her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

It was an excuse. Neither of them had been in bed for more than half an hour.

“Oh dear.”

“So, I thought...” Belle stepped closer, a sway to her hips and her hand trailing over the top of his dresser, “I’d see if you couldn’t sleep either.”

Rumple smirked.

“I haven’t slept a wink.”

She beamed at him, as bright and happy as Belle always had before the curse, and knelt on the edge of his bed.

“You think you could sleep better in here?” he asked.

Her smile dimmed.

“Sleep?” she repeated. “Just… sleep?”

“If,” he hesitated, “if that’s what you want.”

Shuffling closer, Belle sat beside him and put her hand on his thigh. His heart had already started to pound just from her being in his room, and knowing she was willing to share his bed had it racing even faster. It didn’t seem to matter what cursed state they were in -- whether Weaver or Lacey or Izzy -- they wanted one another and he wasn’t going to turn her away.

He leaned forward to kiss her, and with a sharp intake of breath, she kissed him back. It felt the same as kissing Belle. He could smell her perfume, sweet and with a hint of roses, and taste tea on her lips. She hummed, opening her mouth to him, and pressed her hands against his shoulders.

Weaver had been with Belle, or Izzy, enough times to know she preferred him on top. Pushing him down, straddling him whilst she kissed his breath away, was much more Belle than Izzy.

“Belle...”

She leaned back and a brief moment of dread gripped him. She was going to leave. He shouldn’t have said her name. He knew she preferred Izzy and now he--

“Rumple?” She sat up, searching his face, and neither of them needed to say anything for her to know the answer. “You’re awake,” she whispered.

“Belle?”

Reaching up, he cupped her cheek and Belle held his hand in place with her own. It was as if she was scared he might pull away. He couldn’t really blame her. Rumple half-wondered if he’d fallen asleep and this was all a wonderful dream. If it was, he’d happily live in there for the duration of the curse.

“I thought you were cursed,” he made himself say, his voice wavering.

“I have your ring!”

“You wanted me to call you Izzy!”

“Because I thought…” Belle bit back a sob and held his hand tighter. “I thought Weaver might prefer her.”

“Oh, sweetheart. No.” He sat up and kissed her again, a quick peck of his lips to hers, willing her to believe him. “I-- _he_ liked you.”

She smiled, just slightly, but it was enough to reassure him that he’d said the right thing. Weaver had had the privilege of receiving that smile many times in the last months, when he wasn’t being a complete idiot, but Rumple hadn’t seen her smile in far too long.

Cupping her cheeks, he brushed his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the tears, and returned her smile.

“You didn’t give up,” he said quietly.

“Did you think I would?” she asked, playing with the buttons on the front of his nightshirt. She traced them down and slid her warm hands up underneath, pressing them to his stomach.

Rumple shook his head and leaned into her, almost close enough to kiss her again, and waited for her to meet his eyes. “Never.”

She kissed him then, curling her hands around his side to hold them close, and he returned the kiss gladly. His wonderful Belle had fought so hard to bring him back, and in the end it had taken her book, his ring, _and_ their son to make that possible. A child born of true love, just like the original curse.

He pulled away when he thought of Gideon. The poor boy must have been so confused, but at least he hadn’t been left completely alone like some of the others taken by the curse. Like Alice.

“Why didn’t your ring work?” Belle asked, toying with it on his hand.

He frowned, watching her twist the stone around his finger. He’d been grappling for an explanation himself. Magic was a temperamental thing at times, especially when one was dealing with dark magic designed to do the exact opposite of what you were trying to make it do.

“Curses are tricky things, and hard to cheat,” Rumple explained, sliding his fingers through hers. “It must have been the white elephant.”

She nodded and thinned her lips; not exactly happy with his answer, but understanding it.

“You couldn’t have both,” she surmised. “So I kept my memories and you kept Gideon.”

He didn’t give an answer, he didn’t think she needed one. They both knew that it was for the best that Gideon had stayed with at least one of them. It had been painful, but at least their son had been kept safe.

Belle brushed her nose against his, her eyes falling shut, and he thought she meant to kiss him again. But she didn’t. They just sat like that, with her on top of him and their hands linked. He traced the tip of his nose across her cheek and kissed the corner of her mouth. Belle smiled.

“Now we have to work out how to wake everyone else,” she said quietly.

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it and Belle’s face brightened. Trust her to think of others when she’d only just got him and Gideon back.

“Maybe we should start with Henry and Alice,” he suggested, trailing more kisses along her jaw.

She hummed, leaning into him with a smile, but it wasn't contentment he saw in that smile when he leaned back. It was mischief.

"Maybe. But I want to have you to myself for a little longer."

Rumple smiled. “Would you, indeed?”

“So...” Belle grinned and pushed him down. “Where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Maplesyrup for beta'ing this whole fic for me, and thank you everyone who's commented and left kudos! I hope you enjoyed the final chapter.


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